Good Cop, Bad Cop
by snarkmcsnark
Summary: She needed a ride to the F train on sixth. He gave it to her. A series of Rollaro one-shots by request. Send your requests over at detectiveguapo(dot)tumblr(dot)com.
1. Good Cop, Bad Cop

**AN: **_I got a request from __**shehatedyou**__ on tumblr to write a fic of Nick and Amanda arguing over parenting styles, especially re: a teenage daughter. I hope you like it, and I hope it pleases all the Rollaro shippers. _

_If you want to send a fic request, you can do so by leaving something in my ask box over at .com._

_As for Tres Amores, I'm almost done with chapter 9. I just have to finish writing one last scene and editing, then I'll most likely have it up by tomorrow. Yep, that's right... 2 rollaro chapters in 2 days. At least, that's what I'm aiming for._

_Read, enjoy, and review!_

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**July 3, 2020**

Summer sweeps the city in a heat wave. Outside, the neighbourhood kids are playing a game of stickball, and fighting over who gets to be skins and who has to suffer being shirts. Behind one of the houses that line the street, the coals are burning and smoke is rising up into the thick, muggy air.

Nick Amaro wipes the sweat off his brow as he turns the piece of meat to the other side. The steak takes on a dark crust that encases a perfect and juicy medium rare centre. He senses cool condensation on the back of his neck; he savours the feeling before a pair of soft lips replace it. Unsurprisingly, he actually prefers the latter. Nick tilts his head back to see the bright smile of his girlfriend.

Six years ago, they were each other's ports in a storm that swept over their squad and left a deluge of trauma in its wake. Today, they are happily living together with old Frannie and, in the summers, with his two kids.

"I brought you a beer," she pushes the bottle into his hand as her other arm wraps around his waist. He can't help but be distracted by the vast, blue depths of her eyes and her rose-coloured cheeks. The smoke billows up and his attention shifts back to their dinner. He sets the beer down and presses a kiss to her warm cheek, "Thanks, Amanda."

Once the steak and the corn on the cob are grilled to his satisfaction, he sets the plates down on the patio table. There are already four place settings done. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he tries to take a mental picture of this moment. It isn't often that both his kids are with him. With Amanda sharing his roof, too, he feels lucky to have the three most important people in his life with him. They're about to share a meal together – like any normal family.

Amanda pushes the screen door with her back as her hands are full with a bowl of Caesar salad and a dish of peach cobbler. He remembers coming home from the butcher earlier that afternoon, smelling the cobbler in the oven. Nick had never seen her do anything more than make coffee or ramen noodles in the kitchen, so he stood in awe when he saw that Amanda had been baking. "Secret family recipe," she explained when she saw him with mouth open and eyes wide. "Sorry about the mess, by the way."

Flour and sugar covered the countertops of their cramped New York kitchen. Her cheekbones had a warpaint of flour and the tip of her nose had sticky peach syrup, that he did not hesitate to lick.

"Gil's just finishing up a level in his game," Amanda explains, "and Zara should be heading in any second now."

Nick nods and helps her set the rest of the food on the table. It's not even the fourth of July yet, but they figure with two extra mouths to feed, they could get away with prolonging the celebrations. He rests his hands on her hips and leans into kiss her. The sweet, gentle kiss takes a life of its own as their bodies press up against each other. Her hands push into his hair as his fingertips press down on the sliver of skin exposed by her rising tank top.

The screen door slams and they hear someone clear their throat. The couple is forced apart, and they turn to see Gil, standing by the door, with his arms crossed. He pretends to be grossed out by the sight of his dad making out with Amanda, but there's mirth in his eyes and a smile, not so unlike Nick's, that makes them think otherwise. Gil slides his long legs over the bench, sits down, and reaches for one of the steaming cobs of corn. Nick smacks his hand away, "where's your sister?"

He shrugs, "I dunno."

Nick exchanges a look with Amanda. "I'll go get her," he says before he walks down the side of the house to their street. As he's walking, he hears the sound of a bat making contact with a ball, followed by a collective gasp, and then broken glass and a car alarm. He sighs to himself as he walks out to the street, hoping that his car isn't the casualty. Thankfully, his windshield is still intact once he gets a full view of the scene.

He scans the street to see the game of shirts and skins. There's a group of girls on the stoop across the street. Jenna, Claudia, and Nicole; but where was his Zara? His ears catch on to a familiar giggle (often only reserved for his lame dad jokes), and his head rears sideways to his own stoop. There, standing against the railing, is his thirteen-year-old daughter being cornered by a shirtless boy. A dirty, sweaty, shirtless boy with a baseball cap with a sticker on it, and one faux diamond earring.

"Zara Amaro, get inside. Now." His voice is firm and unwavering. Her warm, brown eyes peek over the boys shoulders before they turn cold and roll so far back into her head, he was afraid she was going to turn inside out. He snorts as he watches her touch the boy's bicep and says something indiscernible. Nick reads her mouth and it looks like she's saying 'tonight'. He marches up the stoop and takes his daughter's hand to lead her up the steps and through the front door. He turns around and glares at the boy, who looks like he's about to pee his pants.

"Daaad!" Zara wails as soon as he closes the door behind him, and locks it for full effect. "You are so embarrassing!"

Nick wastes no time, and he takes her hand and practically drags her to the back of the house, where the food is getting cold and her family is waiting for her. "Who was that?"

She huffs outside and shoots daggers back at her dad. "It's none of your business."

Nick sneers, "none of my business? I'm your father! Everything you do up until you're eighteen is my business."

"Nick?" Amanda rises off the bench and walks toward them. The father and daughter were doing so fine earlier that day, hanging out at the couch and cuddling. Gil takes the opportunity of everyone's distracted state, and reaches over the table to grab the corn that he's been eyeing. Amanda places her hand on Nick's shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Some kid with no shirt and with one stupid earring was makin' eyes at my daughter."

"Oh my god, dad!" Zara cried, "he was playing for the skins, that's why he had no shirt. And he was not makin' eyes at me… was he?" Her brows furrow as she tries to replay the entire interaction with the boy who introduced himself as Javier.

She was watching the boys play stickball from Jenna's stoop, when she saw Amanda wave at her from across the street. She said her goodbyes to the girls before she crossed behind the makeshift home plate. Then she heard someone call her name and she came to a grinding halt. She spun on her heels to find this cute boy smiling at her… making eyes at her. _Oh god._

"Nick, I don't see the problem," Amanda smiled reassuringly at Zara. "She's a pretty girl and boys will have crushes on her."

"Yeah, you don't think I know that?" He looks from his girlfriend to his daughter. Growing up right before his very eyes; she was looking more and more like his ex, Maria, but with all his passion and bullheadedness. "Still, I don't want you talking to those boys." He stared back at Zara.

"Dad! That's not fair!"

"Life's not fair." He sidesteps her and walks toward the table. He stops and casts a disappointed look at a guilty Gil, who's midway through his corn. But then his eyes soften as he looks from his son to his daughter, "why can't you be more like your brother?"

"What?" Zara shoots back, "sixteen and never even kissed a girl? Uh, no thanks."

* * *

Dinner did not pan out how he pictured it. That happy family, Brady-Bunch-esque fantasy did not play out, and instead they had dinner under the sweltering heat, in a swarm of mosquitoes, and a silence so thick it rivalled the humidity.

Now, back inside in the comfort of his bedroom and the quiet hum of the AC, Nick rests his head on the pillow and closes his eyes. The stress cascades out of him as he exhales in a deep sigh. The bed shifts to the side and his nostrils flare at the scent of her. He can smell her freshly showered body with that body wash that smells like some sort of tropical cocktail. Apparently, it's her summer scent, which isn't the same as the floral one she used in April, or the vanilla one in December. Just one of the many things women did that baffled him, but he wasn't objecting to.

He turns his body to the side and wraps his hand around her waist. Amanda shifts uncomfortably and sits up against the headboard. "I'm not happy with you."

His eyes shoot open and he stares up at her face. "What I do now?"

She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. "You were being totally unfair to Zara. She was just talking to that boy, and you were being a typical, chauvinistic dad."

He brings his hand up to his chest and looks genuinely offended, "Me? Chauvinistic?"

"Oh c'mon, Nick. I know you think you're trying to protect her; but let's be real, you would have treated the situation completely differently had it been Gil talking to a girl."

Nick opens his mouth to protest but he retracts his jaw once he realizes Amanda is right. Nick always prided himself in being a good dad, but teenage girls –_ man, they are a different life form. _

One second, she's playing with Barbie dolls and watching Saturday morning cartoons, and the next, she's signing up for a Snapchat account so she can send selfies to kids in her grade. He had to sit her down and talk to her about the dangers of posting explicit images online. But Amanda had reminded him that Zara was a good kid and that he could trust his daughter, so he waved the white flag and allowed her to enter the world of social media. But only on the condition that he got to follow her.

Zara wasn't too happy about that, but she was thirteen and he was a paranoid cop. They had to meet somewhere in the middle. All he learned from the last few months of his daughter's first foray into social media was that his kid was obsessed with getting a retweet from Taylor Swift. That, and Myspace angle selfies were still a thing.

"Go apologize to her," Amanda advises, deciding to ease up on him. She feels for him. It's not easy being a parent; not that she has any real, firsthand experience. Sure, when Gil and Zara are around she feels like she could be a mom, but it still isn't the same thing as bringing someone into this world and being the person responsible for their well-being. This often puts her in the position of playing good cop to Nick's bad cop, which makes the kids like her and confide in her when their dad is being a bit of an ass. "She claims you've ruined her summer, and she wants to go back to LA."

Nick grumbles as he rolls off the side of the bed. He buries his face in his hands and rubs his eyes, symbolically shedding the pride and protective impulses. "Fine, I'll apologize. But, go back to LA? Really?" Nick sighs. "She can be so dramatic."

"Gee, I wonder where she gets that from."

He turns his head and narrows his eyes at her, but he smiles when he spots the goofy grin on her pretty face. Her cheeks are blushing and her eyes are bright and full of promise. Amanda is right – again. It's not luck, but an all-encompassing sense of gratitude that fills him when he looks at her dressed in one of his old t-shirts that overwhelms her little frame.

What was it that Zara used in her Instagram photo? The one of the two of them, father and daughter, holding hands at the Urban Light sculpture in LA? Oh, right, #blessed.

That's how he feels looking at Amanda, swimming in his sheets and giggling at him because he's staring at her. She mouths _'creep'_ at him and he laughs softly. He won't even attempt to explain himself so he pulls her in for a kiss before he lets his forehead rest against hers. "Good cop wins again, mama."


	2. Church Basements

**AN: **_Thanks for the reviews for Good Cop, Bad Cop. To RollinsAmaroFan, I just want to squeal and hug you for catching those references. If only Warren Leight could read my fics and jump on board this Rollaro ship. We may have lost signal on the ship, but I don't think it's sunk yet. I still have hope. _

_I got a request from **coffeeandhappiness** to write a fic where Nate comes back, which then forces Nick to show off his protective side. I could've written this prompt in a straightforward manner with Nate literally showing up and Nick losing his temper, but I like build-ups and I like throwing curveballs in there. So straightforward this story is not... I did come in with the intention of keeping it short, but 4000+ words later and I can say this story took a life of it's own. So if you like rollercoasters, or should I say rollarocoasters, then you're in the right place._

_I hope you enjoy it, because it was a lot of fun writing it. Writing first person Nick uses up a lot of my apostrophes, but I'll give him as much as he needs. It is his birthday after all. :) _

_Also, you can leave your requests at .com. I didn't realize that I had anon messaging off, but now I have it on so you can leave me a request in case you don't have a tumblr / you're too shy. Leave me requests! Because these are fun!_

* * *

I don't know what it is about church basements, but they give me this uneasy feeling.

Now, I know what you're thinkin'. Don't even go there. My pastor, when I was growin' up, was an up-standing citizen, a man of God – totally kept his hands to himself. The only time Father Morales, God rest his soul, ever touched me was when he put his hand on my shoulder to give me the purity talk. _"Nicolas it is normal to have these thoughts about other young women your age. However, as a good Christian boy, you must resist these temptations. I believe in you, just as Jesus Christ believes in you."_ Those words stuck with me for all of five minutes. Hey, when you're fourteen and a cute girl is makin' eyes at you, there's only so much the Holy Spirit can do before hormones take over.

Now, I can't speak for all the priests in the Catholic Church, but my parish up in the Bronx was one of the good ones. Father Morales still looms around that church like a ghost. Even my Ma thinks fondly of his sermons. She says the younger priests just don't unravel the gospel like he did. She says the Homilies these new priests come up with just try to appeal to the younger generation by dropping pop culture references to get a cheap laugh outta the congregation. _"Quién crees que eres? Gabriel Iglesias?"_

Back to church basements and uneasy feelings. No, I was never inappropriately touched as a child. Unless we're talkin' about my Papi's right hook, in which case I've got lots to say. But that's a story for another day. Growing up though, I did spend an absurd amount of Sunday afternoons trapped in our parish basement. When I was still losin' my baby teeth, there was Sunday school where we learned about Jesus and his magic tricks. After my first holy communion, when I finally got to taste the bread that regrettably tasted like paper, I got stuck with Catechism class. Then Ma said I needed other hobbies 'sides sports so she signed me up for choir. This was around the time I got hit with the puberty stick. I'd show you the video of my _Ave Maria_ concerto, but I'd rather spare you the second-hand embarrassment. 'Sides, I'm pretty sure that Betamax caught fire in an oil drum in '92.

After Sunday mass, families would go down that church basement for the potluck. My Ma would stress herself out every morning, makin' sure she'd make a dish worthy of the other mom's compliments. They always said somethin' nice to her. She didn't need to prove herself, but she still kept stressin' every week like it was part of the Sunday tradition.

So we'd go down to the basement to eat and mingle and listen to the choir's jam session. Sonya would run off with her friends, playin' dolls and makin' them kiss, wrestle, and make up – basically scenes they'd witness in their own fucked-up homes. Ma would be talkin' to the other moms, waitin' for that praise on her _Vaca Frita_ and _Tostones_. Papi would be tadin' stories with the other dads about how they put their submissive wives in place. In the house of God, no less. I figure, in their warped minds, they thought the Bible condoned that sort of behavior.

Me? Where would I be? I'd be sitting against the wall along with all the awkward teenage boys forced to spend a Sunday afternoon in a church basement. A teetering stack of food would sit on my lap. The boys and I would talk about the Yankees and have a pissin' contest about who had a stricter parochial school. In between all the talk, we'd sneak glances across the room to the group of teenage girls who were not-so-subtly whisperin' about us. We all knew what was goin' on in those teenage brains. Yet, at the time, we did nothin' about them because we all got Father Morales one-on-one talk about purity, and he had eyes everywhere. So we sat there and distracted ourselves with members of the same sex, when all we really wanted to do was cross the room and chat up cute girls.

Cute girls who, let's face it, weren't so pure the other six days of the week.

So, what am I doin' in a church basement on a Wednesday night? Why would I put myself back in a place that reminds me of the awkwardness of adolescence? Honestly, it's guilt. And no, it's not the kind of sinful guilt that would require me to step into a confessional and divulge how I've broken at least half the commandments in one day. It's not somethin' that can be fixed with penance and twelve _Hail Marys_. It's the kind of guilt that consumes you when you know you've screwed up with a woman.

In this moment, I kinda wish I was back to being that clueless kid sat against the wall, oblivious in the company of girls. In some ways, and especially after one failed marriage and two baby mamas, I guess I still am pretty oblivious.

I push my left sleeve up my forearm to check the time. It's quarter past ten. They should be done by now. I look up to see a picture of Jesus with a herd of sheep on the opposite wall. I remember all those Catechism classes tellin' me that Jesus died on the cross to save me from my sins, but all I'm thinkin' when I see him up there is him judgin' me, callin' me a dumbass, and preferring the company of his damn sheep. I guess I deserve it.

How'd I end up here anyway? I'm gonna try to keep it brief and not go off on a tangent the way I did when I was ramblin' about church basements. I apologize, but it's boring sitting here in the church hall all by myself with just a picture of my _judgey_ Lord and Savior watchin' over me. See, there's this detective I work with at Manhattan SVU. Her name is Amanda Rollins. For the longest time, we were at each other's throats because we couldn't see eye to eye when it came to the complex cases that landed on our desks. Now though, we've kinda got a history of tongues down each other's throats and only havin' eyes for each other. Funny how life works, huh?

Our relationship, if you're generous enough to label it as such, has been a bit of a rollercoaster. I'm a hothead and she's a stubborn one, so we get into a lot of stupid fights. But we do somehow end up back in each other's beds by the end of even the most grueling work weeks. We both need time to cool off from the arguments. Amanda distracts herself with work, she runs or walks Frannie, and she goes to one of her meetings. Me? It depends on the fight but I'm either a _wallower_ – one of those sad drunks that likes to brood at the darkest corner of the bar, or I'm a fighter. Punching bags at the boxing gym are my usual go-to, but I've developed a reputation of throwing my fist at some scumbags too.

This week was starting out particularly tough. We got a call about a young intern, Katherine Kirke, who was raped by her boss. The suspected doer, Devon O'Donoghue, was this big-time advertising exec with an A-list clientele. As usual, Liv went all guns a blazin' on O'Donoghue and I, bein' her partner and all, backed her up like a loyal little puppy. Even though Kirke's rapist wore a condom and the rest of the evidence was circumstantial at best, we still kept digging up dirt on the boss. Amanda didn't like our direction though, and she brought up the Jackie Walker case from last year. The one where we accused that singing coach of being a pedophile, when all along he was being framed by a conspiring pair of teenage girls.

It wasn't the same case though. But Amanda was adamant that O'Donoghue was innocent, even though his alibi – being on a private plane from Chicago – didn't check out. He lied, and that should've been enough grounds for suspicion. But Amanda still kept pushing this theory that the boss was being framed because Kirke got passed for a promotion to a permanent position. Instead, O'Donoghue hand-picked the pretty, less-experienced intern. Kirke had motive for revenge.

Amanda was bringin' up her points. I was airin' mine out. Next thing I know, we were arguin' in the middle of the squad room, and Fin was tellin' us to take it to the bunks. So we stormed into, what felt like, the time-out room. Amanda was sayin' things 'bout me and Liv makin' this a personal manhunt on O'Donoghue. And I was sayin' things that were probably best kept to myself under lock and key. And I probably shoulda thrown that key into the Hudson and never let it see the light of day.

What was it I said that got me into this clusterfuck with Amanda Rollins? Oh yeah.

_"You're provin' once again you got a blind spot for men in power."_

I can't forget her face when I said those words. I vividly remember how round her eyes got and how her jaw damn near fell to the floor. I saw that same burning fire in her eyes that night we fought in the bar and she shoved me. Amanda hadn't hit me since those night in the middle of the AJ Martin trial, but earlier today in the bunks, I coulda sworn she was thinkin' about it. But she didn't. I just watched as her lip quivered and her eyes clouded with a fresh coat of tears. I wanted to reach out and tell her I was an idiot and I was sorry, but I froze and my goddamn pride kept my mouth shut. She walked out of the room without another word, and for the rest of the day she never once looked my way.

Poor Carisi had to play messenger between us all day. He tried to fish for details on the fight, but I just gave him that look and he knew to back off.

They say time heals all wounds. I knew the moment I said those things to Amanda that I was in the wrong. I knew it wasn't long before I was back on my knees, begging her to take me back. But I gave her time anyway, because I know how she is and I know how her mind works. She runs to get away from all the crap she's had to deal with, and I can't blame her. So I let her run and I let her carry her legs far away from Atlanta, the decks of cards, the soul crushing cases, and sometimes even me. I let her run, but I can't let her get too far.

So, that's why I'm sittin' here, twelve hours later in this church basement, waitin' for her GA meeting to finish. It was supposed to be done twenty minutes ago, but I know how it works. They sit in a circle, do their shares, and mingle over stale donuts and diluted coffee. I'm in the wrong here, so I'm gonna try to be patient. Honestly though, I'm agitated. My feet are tappin' on the floor and my mind is turnin'. I just wanna say sorry and tell her what an ass I've been. I wanna tell her what it was like comin' home to my empty house and seein' the telltale signs of our, um, _friendship_ all over my bedroom. I wanna tell her that I'm the biggest jerk in all of New York and she deserves someone better. Then I'll tell her that even if she does deserve someone better, I'd still fight all the other supposedly _'better'_ guys because there's no chance in hell I'm lettin' her go.

I'm swimming and sinking into this deep ocean of thoughts about Amanda that when my mind snaps back to reality, my view of Jesus and his sheep is obstructed by a group of people filtering out of the room. Meeting must be over. I cast a glance sideways and see her approaching. Blonde hair, blue eyes, bright smile – yup, I was a lucky man once. Amanda's not looking straight on, so she hasn't seen me sitting right outside the open door. She's busy talkin' to someone and smilin' at somethin' this other person is sayin'. I blink and look at the figure beside her; I spot that stupid hat and when he turns forward, I spot that stupid smirk. It's Nate.

_Fuckin' Nate._

I push myself off the chair and I hear it rattle and fall behind me. I don't care, because I'm stormin' towards them. Before I can even think of a game plan or the possible consequences of my actions, I'm less than five feet away from them. I stop when Nate freezes and sees me. Amanda looks at her company with a confused expression on her face, before she turns her head and sees me. She narrows her eyes and rests her hands on her hip. I see that fire burning in her eyes again.

"Hey, don't I know you?" Nate asks curiously, givin' me the once-over. I look at him like he's stupid. Well, he _is_. Just one look at that stupid hat and you've got all you need to know about this thirteenth-steppin' fool.

_Fuckin' Nate._

"Wait," he paused and smiled that stupid grin that I wanted to smack off the side of his face. But Amanda wouldn't like that, so I resisted the impulse. I was here to apologize to her; and I ain't digging myself a deeper grave just because this douchebag was makin' his presence known. "You were in an AA meeting… Rangers jersey, right?"

I furrowed my brows. This guy was dumber than he looked.

"I hope you're still doing the program, man. Remember… no suffering, no growth."

_Fuckin' Nate._

"I'm not in AA," I bit back, resisting the urge to follow it up by callin' him a dumbass. How'd this guy even get into the house of God without burnin' up in flames anyway? Nate looked utterly bewildered, then turned to look at Amanda for some help explaining.

Amanda sighed before she stared daggers at my direction. "Nate, this is Detective Nick Amaro. I work with him." I wanted to add the part where she's sleepin' with me too, just so Nate gets the idea and leaves us alone. But Amanda didn't look like she's too happy with me so I kept that shovel (for my grave) tucked away behind my hands.

"Good to see you again, Nick," he smiled, thrusting his arm out for a handshake.

I stared at his hand and grimaced. "It's Detective Amaro." No way was I shakin' his hand after all the shit he put Amanda through. After the awkward five seconds, the dumbass got the hint and pulled his hand back. He looked at Amanda before he placed his hand on the small of her back. She flinched. "Let's go, Manda."

My eyes widened and I took one step forward to block her path. "Where you goin'?"

Nate placed his hand on my shoulder and I shoved him away.

"Hey, detective, we're just going to my bar and having a chat."

I scoff, "No, she's not goin' anywhere with you."

Amanda's face was flushed. She crossed her arms over her chest and twisted her torso so Nate wasn't touching her anymore. "Nick…" her voice was low and she gave me that same wounded look she had in the bunks earlier today. "Don't do this here."

"Yeah, that's right, Nick, not here."

_Fuckin' Nate._

I turned to the dumbass and got in his face. "It's Detective Amaro." I looked back at Amanda and gave her a pleading look. I was ready to get on my knees and grovel; and frankly, I didn't care if Nate was gonna stand there and witness. "Amanda, we gotta talk. Please."

"Hey, she needs some space… some time to reflect –"

"You don't think I know that?" I hissed. "But no way am I letting her anywhere near you and your Chicken Soup for the Soul bullshit."

Nate stared back in shock, like the moron he is. Amanda just rolled her eyes before she walked away. I followed her up the stairs and inwardly groaned as I heard Nate, not far behind. I called out to her but she just kept walking until we all stood outside the church. She turned on her heel and she looked furious.

"Amanda," Nate held his arm out, hoping she would take it, hoping she'd follow him to his bar, hoping she'd forgive him for cheating on her, and hoping she'd choose him. _Fat chance._

She scowled and gave him this _'fuck-off'_ look without actually needin' to say it. I couldn't help but smile in amusement when I saw that smug look crumble on his face. "I was never going to the bar with you." He tilted his head to the side and pouted his lips like some kind of sad roadside animal. "Look, Nate, I don't know what compelled you to hijack my meeting; but go find another one or I swear to god, I will tell everyone in my next share that you're a lying, cheating son of a bitch that preys on women looking to get better. So, I advise you to leave right now before I tell your cute, little sponsee about your extracurricular activities."

I gulped.

I looked over at Nate and watched his ass get handed to him. He gave Amanda one last sorry look and shook his head. Then, he tucked his tail between his legs and crossed over to the opposite street. I turned my attention back to Amanda and saw the fire in her eyes hadn't been dimmed. She still wasn't done, and I was her next casualty.

"What the hell were you thinking following me to my meeting? I thought I made myself clear when I stopped talking to you. I don't want to see you!"

She turned on her heel and walked down the street. I chased after her, and when I finally fell into step with her, she just quickened her pace. "Amanda, please let me explain." I begged. Her cheeks were flushed and her mouth twisted. I held her shoulders to stop her, but she shoved my hands away. She stood tall, and stared up at me unmoving.

"What I said in the bunks… that was wrong. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

She chuckled humorlessly. "Well, there might be some truth to it otherwise you wouldn't have said it."

I sighed and raked my fingers through my hair. What happened to that plan of groveling? Was that still on the table? But Amanda wasn't interested in an apology or the sight of me on my knees; what she wanted was the truth. She wanted to know if I really did think she had a blind spot for powerful men. "It's come up…" I began to explain. "When Murphy was our boss, he mentioned it to Liv and me once… I remember hearin' it and wantin' to hit him for sayin' that… I don't agree with him, Amanda. You've got good instincts and you were right about Jackie Walker… and you might be right about this case too, if only Liv and I gave your theory a chance, then maybe we'll understand… But I guess, with all the stress from the case, I just remembered what Murphy said and used it as ammo. It's no one's fault but mine. I'm sorry."

Amanda chewed her lip and looked at me with a disappointed expression on her face. "Murphy said that?"

"Yeah, I know you like the guy and you've got good reason to; I'm not gonna try to change your mind about him. But I have my reasons for not agreein' with him, too."

She nodded somberly. I watched her expression shift. "I'm not surprised it came from him. He told me the same thing. I guess I should've known he planted the idea in your head… But he's right… I do have a blind spot, and maybe it's got to do with my dad… or Patton," she cringed.

I placed my hands on her arms and, thankfully, she didn't pull away this time. I held her eyes and I just wanted to hold her and make her forget about it all – the fight, the heartbreak she went through with Nate, the gambling, and especially all of those nightmares from Atlanta. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and protect her from all the stuff she was runnin' away from. I knew she'd protest and tell me how she didn't need to be protected or saved; but I just wanted her to know that if she needed it, I could be the man she could run to.

She was looking down at the ground and her eyes lifted up and flared in renewed ire. "It still doesn't make up for you following me to my meeting… and what the hell was that pissing contest with Nate?"

I shifted on my feet and placed my hands in my pocket. "I… I… I came 'ere to apologize. I had this spiel I was rehearsin' in my head. Amanda, I was ready to grovel… Then I saw Nate and that stupid fuckin' hat and I just saw red..." My eyes must've bugged out of my skull because she shook her head and laughed. "I'm sorry, Amanda."

She bit her lip and frowned. "Honest to god, I didn't know he'd be here."

"Never crossed my mind you invited him."

"Really?" She asked, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted in confusion.

"I trust you." I smiled softly. Her face lit up and I saw all that anger vanish from her eyes. God, she's beautiful. So beautiful that I sometimes can't help but want to keep her from the rest of the world. I want to keep her from the darkness, from the Nates who lied to her, and the Pattons who took advantage of her. But at the same time, she's so beautiful it'd be a shame if the world didn't see it.

"But I don't trust him." I added.

Amanda sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. I slung my arm over her shoulders and she settled into me as we walked down the street. "Nate showed up, sponsoring this new girl in my group," she explained. "After we did our shares, he sorta abandoned her and went up to me. I didn't want to be rude, so we made small talk… then he invited me for drinks at his bar."

"Mhmmm…" I said. I didn't need to hear explanations; she didn't owe me any. Frankly, I was just glad that Nate was long gone and I didn't have to resist the compulsion to knock his stupid hat off his head. Now that Amanda was here with me, I felt more at ease. Maybe she hadn't totally forgiven me yet, but at least she was letting me walk by her side.

"I was planning on making up an excuse so I wouldn't have to go to the bar with him. I was never gonna go, Nick." She looked up at me with eyes full of sincerity. I never doubted her for a second; she never gave me any reason to. I took a chance and pressed my lips down on hers. She didn't pull away; instead, she deepened the kiss. I defied all the signals in my body tellin' me to kiss her back just as tender, and I withdrew from her lips. I still needed to make things right with her.

"I really am sorry, Amanda. I was an ass, and I'm prepared to make it up to you –"

She pressed her finger to my lips. "All is forgiven." I was ready to object, ready to disclose my remorse, ready to tell her how amazing she is and how far I was willing to go to prove that to her. But then she stopped me by stealin' another kiss. "Besides, I think you made it up to me when you told Nate to take a hike and take his Chicken Soup for the Soul bullshit with him."

I laughed and squeezed tighter around her shoulders. She pressed her body against mine and joined me with her adorable, little giggles. Amanda leaned up to look at me. Her eyes weren't holdin' any kind of fire anymore; they were just two deep pools of blue that I could just drown in. Propped up on her toes, she leaned up to kiss me again. I was the one who screwed up, and here she is kissin' me. Am I lucky or what?

I'd never see myself gettin' tired of the feel of her soft lips on mine. I wrap an arm around her waist and lift her up a few inches off the ground. She moans into the kiss as I take my other hand to her hair, and deepen the kiss. She traces my lower lip with her tongue and smiles at me. "Mmmm…" I have a feeling we'll be leavin' more clues of our _friendship_ in my bedroom tonight.

"Get a room!" We jerk around to see one of those construction workers in the orange vests yell at us from across the street. He was smilin' though and tippin' his hard hat. Amanda laughed and linked her arm around mine as we walked down the street to our subway station.

I don't know what it is about subway stations but they give me this feeling like I've got butterflies in my stomach and an arrow lodged into my heart.

Now, I know what you're thinkin'. There are a lot of interesting characters underground in New York City. And there are a lot of opportunistic fuckers that got plenty to say about my cheekbones. I'm not talkin' 'bout any of that. Maybe the butterflies and the arrow got somethin' to do with what happened shortly after our walk – after the fight at the bunks, the GA meeting, and the rare moment of PDA we got called out on. Maybe it's got somethin' to do with Amanda and me waitin' for our train, me castin' a sideways glance at her, and me realizin' that I was head over heels in love with this woman.

Yeah, that sounds about right.


	3. Sopa De Ajo

**AN: **_Thank you for the reviews for **Church Basements**. I'm really glad you guys liked it. Although, I have to agree with one of the reviewers who said the tone was a little too much. It was a lot for Nick Amaro, but I've been rewatching Cold Case lately and I guess I had Scotty Valens on the mind when I was writing that. Still, it was a lot of fun to write in first person and write from a guy's perspective. It definitely won't be the last time I'll try my hand at that, and next time I'll try to bring out more Nick and less Scotty._

_Now, onto this one-shot. I got a request from **weirdwhitegirlvibes** to write a story where Amanda is obviously sick at work, but refuses to admit it. Nick is worried and wants her to go home and rest. _

_I think the timing of this story was kind of perfect considering the last episode, so this is set sometime between the end of their investigation and the before/during the trial. _

_Leave your requests at fuckyeahnickamaro over at tumblr. I take anon messages too. If you sent me your requests, know that I save all my messages. It'll just take a while until I get to them (I do them in the order that I receive them), because I like to put in a lot of effort into my stories. I say I'll do 2000 words and I end up doing 5000. So hopefully, it'll be worth the wait for those who sent in the requests. So onto the story... _

* * *

**Sopa De Ajo**

* * *

**8:34 AM**

The floor number illuminated against the wall, the doors opened, and the passengers dispersed like a pack of dogs trapped behind cages. One sole occupant remained in the elevator, leaning against the wall, and holding a tissue against her nose. Amanda mustered up every bit of strength to remove herself from the position and walk out before the doors closed on her. She took short, careful steps down the hall into the bustling squad room, where everything seemed to be happening in hyperspeed. She pressed her fingers to her temples and willed the migraine to go away; but it seemed willing for its disappearance only invited its prominence.

She sank into her chair and plopped her head on her desk. Thankfully, this squad room was filled with a number of workaholics who wouldn't ask why a detective was napping on her desk at the start of the day..

"Hangover?"

Amanda opened one eye to identify Detective Carisi standing by her desk. _Correction, everyone was a workaholic minding their own business, except for Carisi._ She observed the slicked back hair, which seemed to be less shiny today; it was more fuzzy – or maybe that was just her vision. She closed her eye, before pushing herself off the desk so she could properly face Carisi and prove to him that she wasn't, in fact, hungover.

"No, actually," she began, only to be interrupted by something tickling her nose. She opened her mouth and felt it coming. She even held a finger up to Carisi, telling him to wait for her to finish her sentence. But the sneeze never arrived. "I wasn't drinking last –"

"Ah-choo!"

_There you go._ His brows creased before they raised in utter horror. He slowly backed away from her desk, holding his hands up like he was about to get arrested. Then when Carisi finally got to his desk, he squirted a generous amount of sanitizer to his hands and rubbed all the way up to his forearms. _Seriously?_

Amanda reached for her box of Kleenex and blew her congested nose for momentary relief. It was wet, and thick, and the act certainly wasn't the cutest thing she'd ever done – but it felt good when it was all over. Until she had to go through the process in another minute or two.

Carisi stared in panic. He extended the sanitizer bottle out like it was a cross and he was warding off the devil. "Don't go anywhere near me."

Amanda narrowed her eyes at him. "Like, I would ever do that on any other day."

He pouted slightly, before a glimmer of amusement washed over his face. The smug grin on his face was something she wanted to shake off him, but she didn't think she had the energy to even walk the few feet over to his desk. With the sanitizer still in his grip, like some kind of shield of immunity, he scrutinized her.

"What?" Amanda glared. "What are you looking at?"

"Hmmm… red eyes, runny nose –"

Amanda coughed.

"A cough?" Carisi pouted his lips and nodded affirmatively, like he had just figured something out. "You've got the measles."

Her head whipped back to his direction so fast that she swore she suffered a case of whiplash. She rubbed the back of her neck as she threw daggers with her cold blue eyes. "I do not have the measles. I'm immunized, you… you _moron_." She hissed.

Carisi merely shrugged. "Like I said, it's not a hundred-percent effective… There was that measles outbreak a couple of weeks ago. You might'a caught it."

Amanda rolled her eyes and opened the laptop on her desk. She was not going to make her headache worse by engaging in this moronic conversation with Carisi.

"You know what this is?" He asked rhetorically, waving his finger around. "This is for you playing that joke on me, tellin' me I had measles spots on my face. _This_ is karma."

Amanda dropped her head to the desk.

* * *

**10:13 AM**

The painkillers were saving her life. _Thank you, modern medicine._ She parked the against the curb and walked down the street to meet her partner. They caught a new break on a suspect and Fin called her to meet up at Bellevue, where the suspect in question was admitted after an OD.

_Ah, Spring weather_ – where the flowers were blooming and the birds were chirping. That time of the year when her allergies kicked in full gear and a bunch of robins decided to nest on her bedroom window. She loved animals; even had a dog, she treated better than any other human, to prove it. But damn, if she wasn't tempted to push that bird nest off the ledge. Of course, she'd never done it. That would be cruel. But she'd thought about it; and she'd never given it as much thought as the last twelve hours when she was coming down hard with this flu.

"Yo," Fin's eyes widened once he caught sight of his partner. "What the hell happened to you?"

She scowled at him. "Thanks, Fin." She muttered sarcastically.

"Startin' to think this zombie apocalypse thing is happening." He cocked his head to the side and studied her carefully. "You sure you're not gonna eat me halfway through this questioning?"

She gave him a sly smile, "wouldn't you like that, partner?" But all efforts to be teasing and playful with Fin were shot to hell when she sniffled into a crumpled tissue.

"Real sexy, Manda." Fin joked with her. She followed him inside the hospital and tried to hold in the hacks and the sneezes. It became more difficult to concentrate on the interview when she was trying to hold in a coughing fit. Fin eventually had to take over, asking all the questions, because it got so bad that she had to excuse herself to expel all that nasty, disease-ridden air out in the hallway.

It turned out their suspect had an alibi for the night in question. It turned out he wasn't actually that bad a guy, except for the debilitating heroin addiction; but that was mostly a product of a rough childhood. So, neither Fin nor Amanda could really judge the guy. Before Fin left the room, the suspect reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a lollipop.

"Some nurses were handing them out earlier. They're vitamin C lollipops," he explained, thrusting it to Fin's open hand. "Looks like your partner needs them more than I do."

Fin was driving with a silly grin on his face on the way back to the precinct. His partner sat shotgun, with an orange-flavored lollipop wedged between her sour frown.

When they got back to the station, Carisi had replenished his bottle of sanitizer with something that he must have purchased at a Costco. To her utter horror and distress, Fin actually went over to Carisi's desk and pumped the clear gel into his hands. He turned to Amanda and shrugged, "better safe than sorry."

* * *

**12:21 PM**

She looked around the room and saw that the lights in the sergeant's office were still turned off, and Nick's desk looked untouched. She knew Liv was at the hospital with Noah, who was _actually_ sick of the measles. _You'd think Carisi would be able to tell the difference between the flu and the measles by now._ Nick was probably with Liv at the hospital, being the dependable partner that he was. She wasn't jealous or anything; she understood why he did it. But she kind of wished he was there in the squad room. Maybe seeing his face could cure this cold, flu, allergy - whatever the hell it was.

Her thoughts were interrupted by something she caught in her peripheral vision. A red object was set down on her desk. She followed the trail of muscled forearm, rolled up sleeves, blue tie around the neck, deep brown eyes. _Oh, hey._ She smiled weakly before looking back down at the cup of Campbell's instant chicken noodle soup.

"Heard you were sick," he said. "Carisi texted me saying you had the measles, and asked if I could steal some surgical masks and latex gloves from the hospital."

"Seriously?" Amanda lowered her eyes and glanced at Carisi's unoccupied desk. He had gone out twenty minutes ago to get lunch, not even bothering to invite her. And he usually invited her out for lunch – that was his favorite part of the work day. Granted, she usually said _'no'_ to him; but she was a little hurt that the offer wasn't extended today. Not that she had much of an appetite, so she was probably going to say _'no'_ anyway. "Was that all he asked for?" She added bitterly.

Nick bit his lip and pondered the question. "Mmm…I think I left out the bit about the hazmat suit."

Amanda crinkled her nose at him, but that only irritated her nose enough to make her sneeze. Nick didn't back away like Carisi or Fin. He just stood there beside her like he was totally unfazed by her germs. She looked up at him inquisitively as she rubbed her nose dry. He raised an eyebrow at her and smirked. "Go eat your soup. Sorry, it's not much. It was the only thing that remotely resembled real food in the hospital vending machine." He set down the coffee cup he was holding in his other hand.

"Oh, you got me fancy coffee too?" She smiled up at him.

"No," he lifted the lid and a pleasant aroma drifted from the cup. If only her nostrils weren't so backed up, then maybe she'd be able to smell that soothing scent of peppermint and chamomile. "It's tea. It should help you stop from soundin' like Sergeant Voight."

"Hey!" She cried out, only to cough a few times.

Nick pressed a hand on her back and laughed, before he walked towards his desk. She stuck her spoon into the instant chicken noodle soup and her heart warmed at the gesture. He'd even filled it up with hot water for her.

* * *

**3:00 PM**

By middle in the afternoon, Amanda got the hint. Her partner had chosen Carisi, of all people, to accompany him on a series of interviews. Fin just shrugged his shoulders, said_ 'sorry'_ that felt more like _'not sorry'_, and they went their merry, sterilized way into the, arguably, filthier and more germ-infested city of New York. She knew not to take it personally. Being sick was no fun, and she couldn't really blame them for not wanting to be around her. Even the bumbling, faceless, nameless unis that walked around their squad room seemed to get the idea by mid-afternoon and started avoiding the path around her desk. _Of all the times to get sick, it had to happen during this damn measles case._

Nick sat on his desk the rest of the afternoon, looking so absorbed in whatever paperwork he got stuck doing. With Liv in the hospital with Noah, Nick was like the unofficial second-in-command, and he was doing extra work to make up for their sergeant's lost time. He was staying late in the office, and then going to the hospital at night to keep his partner company when the hospital hallways got too quiet. She wondered how he was the one who hadn't gotten sick. He must've had the strongest immunity of any person she knew. _Typical Nick._

Amanda sniffled and reached into the tissue box only to come up empty. "Shit," she cursed inwardly, or so she thought. Nick looked up from the pile of folders on his desk and furrowed his brows. She shook the hollow box and peered inside, hoping there was at least one sheet left behind. Alas, to her utter disappointment, it was empty. She pursed her lips and inhaled deeply, trying to suck in that phlegm before she started making an even bigger embarrassment of herself.

Amanda closed her eyes and opened her mouth ready to sneeze. It was coming. She could feel the itch on her nose, just taunting her, taunting her to let it go. She opened her eyes and saw a clean, white handkerchief right in front of her face. She followed the trail of muscled forearm, rolled up sleeves, blue tie around the neck, deep brown eyes. _Oh, hey._

She took the handkerchief and before she could be a little more like the Southern lady her grandma always dreamed her to be, and say _'thank you'_, she sneezed into the formerly clean, and formerly white handkerchief. She rubbed her nose and blew it a couple more times for good measure. She sighed deeply, or as deep as her lungs would let her. Nick sat against her desk and gave her _that_ look. _Nope_, she thought. It's two hours until the end of the day. She almost made it, and he was going to send her home. Amanda shook her head, but Nick was already around her chair and putting her jacket over her shoulders. He was coaxing her to put her arms through the sleeves.

He spun her around and gave her that charming smirk mixed with a pitying pout. It was everything she loved and hated about him all in one look. _Damn him._ As handsome as he was, he was unfortunately no cure for her ailments. She sighed. Nick straightened her coat. Before he sent her off, she lifted the damp handkerchief between them. He crinkled his nose in feigned disgust.

"Keep it."

Amanda groaned as she turned around and started walking out of the squad room. Before she was out of earshot, she heard his voice.

"Don't say I never gave you anything!"

* * *

**7:47 PM**

The sun was coming down but it made no difference to Amanda because she had drawn the shades as soon as she got home. Even the soft rays of warm, golden light was hurting her bloodshot eyes. She crashed into bed and willed herself to sleep. It wasn't the most peaceful sleep, with the frequent nose-blowing interruptions, but it still beat having to sit in the office, staring at the screen, wondering why her head hadn't combusted yet. And she didn't have to hold back and remind herself of her manners. _No_, this time she could go all out and blow her nose to her heart's content. She could cough like an old smoker with a charcoal colored pair of lungs; and she didn't have to worry about hacking into her sleeve or trying to keep the decibels down. She was sick; and in the privacy of her apartment, she let the sickness reign supreme.

She woke up from her nap and literally rolled out of bed to the firm, yet still plush carpet. Amanda stayed on the floor for a few more minutes before she shakily pushed herself off the ground. Before she opened the fridge, she had a good idea of what could be inside – beer, inadvertently blue cheese, solid chunks of milk, and several take-out containers featuring a smorgasbord of weeks-old cuisine from all over the world. Once she finally pulled the door open, she found everything but the beer. She closed it with a quiet moan of discontent, before she started raiding the cupboards. She would have even settled for a second round of the instant chicken noodle soup she had for lunch, but all she had was a jar of peanut butter and some twenty different brands of dog treats. Amanda propped her head against the cabinet as her stomach rumbled.

The knock on the door interrupted her pipe dream of hot soup, a warm blanket, and a Netflix marathon. Frannie ran to the door and started circling around the hallway as if she was thanking the canine gods someone who wasn't as sick and miserable was finally coming around to entertain her. Amanda peered through the peephole and she let out a heavy breath. She turned the knob and welcomed her visitor.

Nick smiled broadly at her and lifted the stockpot and paper bag that he was holding up with his arms. She noticed he was dressed down from work and his hair was still damp. He had already taken a shower and here she was standing in front of him in her wrinkled clothes from work. She smoothed out her blouse as she let him into her apartment. Nick immediately turned to the kitchen where he set down the pot and turned it on to a low heat. He then pulled out a carton of eggs from the paper bag and set it down on the counter. Frannie tried to climb his legs like a tree and he finally gave her that pat on the head she was waiting for. _Frannie Mae can be so damn clingy_, Amanda thought to herself.

Amanda peered over his shoulder and reached for the pot's lid. He waved her hand away. "It needs to simmer for another half hour," he told her as he adjusted the heat again, realizing her stovetop wasn't as temperamental as the relic in his kitchen. "I got it started when I got home. But I figured I'd finish cooking it here so you can have it when it's nice and hot." He lifted the lid slightly and the scent of garlic and chicken filled the tiny space. Amanda knew it must've smelled good because Frannie was circling around her legs, like she was expecting to get a bowl of it or something.

Nick reached into the paper bag and pulled out something wrapped in yellow paper. Amanda furrowed her brows and tried to get a look at what he was holding, but he placed it behind his back. Once he'd led her to the bathroom, Nick started drawing her bath. Amanda pouted as she sat on the edge of the tub. She knew it would relax her, but she didn't know how to feel about Nick just barging in here, thinking he could take care of her, with his soup… _and a bath bomb?_

"Where'd you get that?" She asked in bewilderment.

Nick shrugged and inspected the purple spherical object that seemed to puzzle him, especially for something that he had brought into her apartment.

"It's Zara's," he explained, turning it over to see the embossed crescent moon on the other side. "She brought a bunch of these when she came over in January. She used one for every bath and said it made the water smell good. I think this one's for nighttime." He raised a brow and gave her a smirk.

"What gave it away?" She asked in feigned inquisitiveness. "Was it the moon?"

Nick chuckled softly. "I see the flu hasn't affected your sass one bit. That's good," he nodded his head approvingly, before he winked at her. "That's a good sign."

Amanda shooed him away as she unbuttoned her blouse. Nick pouted and cocked his head to the side. "Mmm… Out…" She whined, not wanting him to see her in this state. She didn't exactly feel too hot. And while her body didn't look any different, her lethargy seemed to distort her view and made her think her skin was too translucent and her limbs too gangly. "Besides, you might burn that soup you were working so hard on."

"Nah, you can't burn something cooked with love." He winked at her. Amanda rolled her eyes and threw her blouse at him. He caught it with his hand and laughed on his way out of the bathroom. She turned to the tub and turned off the water once it was nearly full. She slipped out the rest of her clothes before she ran her fingers through the water. It was hot enough that it'd be a struggle and a half to submerge herself in it, but not too hot that it would scald her skin. Picking up the bath bomb, she ran her fingers over the embossed design before she chucked it into the water.

She could barely get a good whiff of it with her clogged nose and all, but she could smell the faint fragrance of lavender and vanilla. The purple swirled in the water as the bomb fizzed around and got smaller right before her eyes. She carefully dipped her legs into the water, hesitating a few times and pulling out. Finally, she mentally kicked herself in the ass and sank down onto the tub. The initial shock of heat wore in waves to a comfortable relaxation that eased her sore muscles. She sighed deeply and in that instant, felt her lungs clear up ever so slightly.

The scent of lavender and vanilla was right under her nose, and it pleased her to know that her senses were slowly returning. She rested her head against the tile and closed her eyes. She remembered waking up that morning and feeling like a truck had slammed onto her body. She was still unwell, but the chicken noodle soup and tea for lunch, the bath with the colorful and scented water, and the mystery dinner on her stove – it all made her feel like she was finally on the upswing. She sighed in content realizing it had all been Nick's doing. _Oh, Nick. Sweet, sweet Nick._ She could pretend to be frustrated with him about sending her home early, and coming over expecting it was ok for him to take care of her just because she was sick. She could be stubborn about those things, but right now, she was just too tranquil to care.

She opened her eyes and ran her fingers across the surface of the water. It had taken on a deeper purple hue, and as the water rippled, she noticed it reflect the light off the ceiling. _Wait._ She lifted her hands from the water and inspected her pruny fingertips. Was that what she thought it was?

Glitter.

Even after running the shower and rinsing it off, the glitter stuck to her skin like glue. She'd done arts and crafts in grade school before. She knew that once you played with glitter, you were bound to find it days later no matter how hard you scrubbed yourself. This wasn't just something you could buy from Michael's though; this was fine, body shimmer that seemed to make her glow like the pageant girls she grew up with in Loganville. She shuddered at the horrifying memory as she dried herself off with the towel.

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she noted that she was already looking a lot better. Her eyes weren't bloodshot anymore, and her nose – while still quite pink around the edges – didn't look like it was rubbed raw. Her skin was also looking really good, but then again that might be on account of the body glitter.

Unable to determine how her body was reacting to the temperature, she came out of her room dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of athletic knee socks. She didn't want anything tight against her body because her torso was hot, but the bottom half of her legs were freezing. Once she opened the door, the little exposed of her olfactory senses inhaled the scent of garlic, chicken, and a bunch of other spices she couldn't name. This was no chicken noodle from a vending machine; Nick had out-Jolened Jolene Castille.

Amanda slipped into the kitchen and snuck up behind him. Too busy stirring things in the pot and tasting to make sure the spices were balanced, Nick didn't even notice she had joined him until she wrapped her arms around his waist. She got on the tips of her toes and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Mmm… looks good."

"Tastes even better," he said, lifting the wooden spoon to her lips. Amanda closed her eyes as the soup danced around her taste buds before she swallowed it into her eager belly. "So, what you think?"

She bit into her bottom lip and smiled. "You were right. Tastes better than I imagined." She pressed a kiss on the crook of his neck before she unwrapped her arms from his body. She pulled two ceramic bowls from the shelf and two plastic spoons she once got from a cereal box. She had bought a new set of silverware after Kim had cleaned her out two years ago, but she liked to use the pink and blue dinosaur spoons whenever Nick was around. _It was their little thing, ok?_

Nick filled the bowls and stuck in a slice of French bread. Nick turned off the burner and covered the pot before he joined Amanda on the couch. She turned on her TV and started looking through Netflix for a movie or series they could watch tonight. They had just finished _House of Cards_' third season over the weekend, and it wasn't going to be an easy task topping that show. Amanda set the remote down on her thigh so she could give Nick his pink Stegosaurus spoon. She had won the blue Triceratops after three rounds of rock, paper, scissors.

"By the way, your daughter's bath bomb turned me into Edward Cullen."

His brows creased in a confused expression.

"Forget it," she smiled, blowing into the hot soup. "Just be glad Zara wasn't born ten years earlier or you'd probably have a kid obsessed with the idea of having a sparkly vampire for a boyfriend."

"As opposed to my eight year-old mourning her favorite member leaving One Direction." He countered.

She was lifting the spoon to her mouth when she was forced to send it back down to the bowl. Amanda sputtered out a laugh. "Mourning?"

"She called me up crying… telling me this kid… Zach? I think that's his name… she said he was gone. For Christ's sake, I thought a kid in her school had died or something."

Amanda covered her mouth with her hand as she tried to suppress the giggles.

Once she had settled down from all the laughing, Amanda ate the soup and relished the flavor swirling against her tongue. She chewed heartily on the chicken, finally satisfying that rumble of hunger in her belly. So engrossed in her meal, Amanda didn't even realize that Nick had been observing her. She had wolfed down half her bowl already and he hadn't even dipped the Stegosaurus into his soup yet. "I take it you like my _Sopa De Ajo_."

"Mhmmm…" She took another spoonful into her mouth. "Make me more of this Soh-pah Deee Ah-who."

Nick chuckled and shook his head. "You're gonna have to learn Spanish at some point. Otherwise, you're gonna be out of the loop when I'm speaking Spanish to our kids."

Amanda dropped the spoon into her bowl and stared at him in shock.

He wiggled his brows and sent her a teasing smile.

"That's not funny." She pouted, but there was a playful smirk turned up at the corner of her lips.

Once they were done their soup, they were still browsing through the options in Netflix. Like every Friday night, the two couldn't seem to decide on something to watch. It was either one of them had already seen it, Amanda thought it was going to be too cheesy, or Nick thought it would be one of those movies that would just frustrate him because it defied logic, physics, and the proper handling of a weapon. Amanda tossed the remote on the couch and settled into Nick's arms. "I give up. You pick."

"So you can snore in the middle of it?" He cocked an eyebrow at her.

Amanda pushed against his pecs and stuck her tongue out. "If you don't pick something, I'm gonna kiss you and spread my germs all over your pretty face."

Nick tried to dodge Amanda's approaching puckered lips. She only got close enough until her lips were barely an inch away from his. "If you kissed me right now, I'd kiss you right back." He challenged her. "I don't care about your germs. I love you so I gotta love the germs too."

"Shut up," she pushed her hand against his face. "You are the biggest cheeseball, you know that."

"You love it though, admit it." He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her to his lap. "And what do you think you're doing wearing these socks," he trailed his fingers down her legs. "You know I went to Catholic school..."

His eyes grew dark in lust as he bent his head down, but she turned her head away.

"I'm not getting you sick." She stated firmly.

Nick groaned, only to wrap his arms tighter around her. They weren't going to be making out like two teenage kids in the back of a movie theater, but that didn't mean they couldn't cuddle on the couch together. Nick reached over for the remote with one hand while the other one stroked circles above her left hip. She snuggled close to him and buried her face in the curve of his neck.

"Thanks for taking care of me. I know I'm not the most cooperative person when I'm sick."

"As opposed to when you're perfectly healthy?"

She pinched one of his ab muscles and he yelped at the mild discomfort. "I'm trying to be grateful here, Nick." She narrowed her eyes at him. Her expression softened as she studied the broad planes and sharp angles of his face. Then she found his eyes and she felt herself drowning in their depths. "I love you."

"Love you too," he pinched her nose.

Amanda's eyes widened as her mouth opened, gaping wider, and wider... "Ah… Ah… Ah-choo!" She instinctively turned her head to the side. Her back was heaving as she tried to recover from the forceful sneeze. She turned to him and frowned before she pinched another one of his ab muscles, this time a little harder.

Nick yelped in between chuckles. Once she determined it was enough payback, she rested her head on his chest and started soothing his muscles with the palm of her hand. Amanda glanced up to the TV to see Nick scroll through the options on the screen.

_How I Met Your Mother, Goodwill Hunting, 30 Rock, Skyfall, Airplane, Bob's Burgers, Supernatural, Mean Girls, The West Wing, The Interview, American Horror Story, The Wolf of Wall Street…_

Another night, spending hours mulling over all the options, only to be deferred by indecision. His body was warm and it soothed her, like a drug without any of the side effects. She snuggled into his arms and tried to get as close as possible; if it were only possible to feel every inch of his skin in that moment, she would. Nick pressed a kiss on top of her head as he moved down to the next category: _Romantic Movies_. He looked down at her and gave her a mischievous smile.

Amanda raised one delicate eyebrow at him. "Next."


	4. Don't Mean To Interrupt

_**AN:** Thank you again for the reviews for **Sopa De Ajo**! I really enjoyed reading your reactions to the parts you enjoyed. I also had so much fun writing Carisi in that one, which is why I'm using his perspective on this one. _

_Anyway, I got a request from an anon to write a fic where Carisi interrupts them while they're doing each other. Initially this was gonna be the classic, gettin' it on in the cribs scene, but I feel like that would've been too predictable. Also, kind of OOC since these two, according to my good friend, Warren Leight, are keeping this non-relationship furtive. So I tried to figure out a way where Nick and Amanda weren't being reckless, but still managed to get caught. And this is what I came up with._

_Send your requests to **fuckyeahnickamaro **over at tumblr. If I don't reply, it's not that I'm ignoring you. I'm keeping your request in my inbox so I can keep tabs on the order of requests. _

* * *

**_Don't Mean To Interrupt_**

* * *

Drumming his fingers on his desk, Sonny Carisi observed the detective seated across from him. The laptop was open and the folders were sprawled on the surface while Nick Amaro switched glances between screen and page, screen and page. So absorbed in his work, Nick hadn't even noticed the _new guy_ staring intently in his direction.

Olivia Benson's door opened and Nick and Sonny snapped out of their isolated reveries. "Amaro, I need you to pick up that warrant from Judge Robinson's office," ordered Sergeant Benson. For a brief moment, she studied Sonny and wondered why she'd caught him ogling Nick. She shook her head and tried to rid herself of any unwelcome thoughts about two male detectives. Once Olivia retreated back into her office, Nick started closing folders and gathering his things. _Wallet, phone, keys, and gun_, he repeated inwardly.

_It was now or never_, Sonny told himself just as Nick rose from the chair and shrugged into his jacket.

"Hey, Amaro," he called out, swallowing down those same jitters he had back in high school when he wanted so desperately to be friends with the kids from the popular table. "Wait up."

Nick turned around and arched a brow. "Yeah, what's up?"

"So, uh… I'm movin' to a new apartment in two days… finally gettin' out of that dump in Bushwick," he chuckled nervously. Nick gave him a strange look, and raised his brows further up to signal his impatience. "Yeah, so anyway… my new landlord says I can't move in for another two days, but my lease is already up and the new tenants are movin' in today… so I need a place to stay for a coupl'a days… and I hear you got a spare room."

Nick narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't you have sisters you can stay with? Bella, or the other two?"

Sonny raised his palms up and shook his head. "No, no, I can't do that," he complained. "They'd just tell me to stay with my parents at the Island, and I can't do that… My mom… She's never gonna let me hear the end of how stupid I was endin' my lease before findin' a new place to live."

"That's not really my problem," Nick shrugged, pushing his chair under his desk before turning to walk out of the squad room.

Sonny blocked his path. "You kinda owe me, Amaro."

"Owe you?" Nick questioned, brows creasing in dismay.

"Remember two weeks ago – the Jeffries case, when you were a no-show for the interview…" Sonny trailed off, nodding his head as the memory started coming back to Nick and recognition washed over his previously annoyed expression. "I covered for you when you took that three hour lunch break."

Placing his hand over his mouth, Nick pondered the favor Sonny was asking. It wasn't much. He just needed a place to crash for a couple of nights. And he did owe him big-time for covering for him that afternoon. Nick pushed his sleeve up his arm and checked his watch. He needed to get moving if he wanted to beat the rush hour traffic and make it to the Judge Robinson's chambers in time.

"Ok, fine."

Sonny grinned from ear to ear and leaned forward like he was about to hug Nick, but he immediately hesitated when he saw that flash of terror in Nick's eyes. Pulling away and squaring his shoulders, Sonny tried to keep his expression calm and collected. "So, uh, you don't need to worry 'bout me. I've got a class tonight – Torts," he said, rolling his eyes. "And I've got a study group after, so I probably won't be at your place until after midnight."

Nick nodded impatiently. Liv was sending him a peeved look from her office, practically daring him to explain why he was still standing there in the middle of the office.

"So, you could just leave the door unlocked and I'll let myself in."

His dark eyes shot back to Sonny. "No, that ain't happening," he snorted, pulling his desk drawer open to retrieve a spare set of keys. "Don't forget to lock the door."

Closing his palm over the keys, Sonny smiled brightly at Nick. "Thanks, man."

"Yeah, yeah…" he muttered as he backed out towards the hallway. "I hope you don't mind Frozen."

Sonny's brows furrowed in confusion, until it hit him. He stuck his torso out the hallway and saw Nick waiting for the elevators. "You kiddin?" Sonny called out. "I love Anna and Elsa."

* * *

The Tort lecture had kicked Sonny's ass. Night school at Fordham didn't exactly allow him to pick out the best professors, so he ended up with these geezers who thought teaching was essentially regurgitating what was written in the books. Once he had his half-caf Americano and he was sitting around a table with his study group, he thought his law school friends would be able to explain today's lecture. But instead, they just got into another dispute about the syllabus, which turned into an argument about civil liberties, which turned into another wasted night. It was supposed to be study group; not the freaking debate club.

Finally, he arrived at Nick's house, which was, thankfully, only a short train ride from campus. Nick's car was parked on the driveway and all the lights were turned off. Sonny assumed that the other detective must've been home and asleep. Quietly, he turned the lock and was actually relieved that he had been given a real key and wasn't on the end of some cruel joke. Not that he thought Nick would do something like that, or have the foresight to predict he'd would be homeless for two days; but he'd seen Nick's reluctance. Sonny even had to bring up the incident two weeks ago, when Nick said he was running out for a thirty-minute lunch, only to disappear for three hours.

Sonny thought something was off. Ever since Nick was brought back to SVU from his short stint working the traffic beat at Queens, his punctuality made the rest of the squad look bad. So when Nick was gone for three hours with an unconvincing 'family emergency' excuse, Sonny agreed to cover for him only if he could cash in on the favor in the future. He remembered an exasperated-sounding Nick on the phone telling him he'd do whatever he wanted as long as Serge or anyone higher up wouldn't find out about him being MIA.

Trying to keep the noise down as much as possible, Sonny made his way through the living room and down the hallway. He did everything short of tiptoeing before he finally reached his room for the next two nights. Setting his duffel bag on the floor, he scanned the dark room in search of a light switch. Eventually, he found a lamp by the bed and turned it on.

Nick hadn't been joking about Frozen. Zara's bedroom was decked out in a variety of Frozen merchandise. Anna, Elsa, and Olaf smiled at him from the bedspread. Dolls and toys waved at him from the shelves, and a familiar blue dress hung in front of the closet door. It was as if the Disney movie had thrown up in this little girl's room.

Sonny sank down on the bed and picked up one of the stuffed animals. Its plastic eyes stared back at him, and a strange combination of childlike amusement and fright caused a tremor in his spine. Still, Sonny figured staying here for the night beat out moving back to his childhood home in Staten Island – even for just two nights. No question, his mom would welcome him back home with open arms. The problem was she probably wasn't going to open those arms, and let him out of her house ever again.

After changing into a Mets tee and his boxers, and brushing his teeth in the bathroom across the hall, Sonny returned to the Frozen room. He crashed on the bed and rolled on his side to turn off the light. He tried to get comfortable, but realized it was a near-impossible task when there were fifty or so stuffed animals competing for space on the single bed. Pushing them off the bed, he whispered his apologies as they fell in a heap on the floor. Making a silent promise to return them on top of the bed in the morning, he finally allowed his body to settle. Once he got comfortable and realized that the Frozen blanket was really soft and toasty, and considered asking Nick where he'd bought it for his kid, he closed his eyes. He was finally all set for that deep slumber he'd been waiting for since he rolled out of bed eighteen hours ago.

Until.

The bed squeaked. The headboard pounded against the wall like a drumbeat at a rock concert. The bed squeaked again and again in an incessant rhythm. But it wasn't his bed moving or making noise. No, Sonny was practically paralyzed. In fact, he was as frozen as Anna was in that scene in that goddamn kids' movie, that he only watched to appease his annoying niece.

_Shit._

Sonny stared up at the ceiling, his eyes wide in shock and horror. He intertwined his fingers and rested his hands over his stomach, hoping and praying it would stop. But the noises only got louder and faster, and the longer it lasted, the dirtier he felt. Closing his eyes, Sonny willed himself to fall into a deep sleep and forget about it in the morning. This wasn't the first time he'd overheard people having sex. It was part of the reason he was moving out of his apartment in the first place. The building had thin walls and all his work-from-home neighbors did all day was fuck each others' brains out. Shuddering at the memories and the new ones forming that very moment, he internally scolded himself to focus on the sheep jumping over the fence. _One sheep, two sheep, three sheep…_

Then he heard the grunting, and although he'd never heard that particular noise coming out of his co-worker, he was positive those grunts belonged to esteemed SVU Detective Nick Amaro. Now, he felt real dirty. Then something else joined the symphony of boxsprings, headboard, and Amaro's grunts. It was the sound of a woman moaning. It wasn't the short, muffled moans he heard from his neighbors. No, this almost sounded like she was purring. And it just got louder, and louder, and louder. _Like a cat in heat. No, no, scratch that, like catwoman in heat. _

Sonny tried not to listen. At one point, he even pressed his hands to his ears, closed his eyes, and pictured those fence-jumping sheep again. But the moaning was so throaty and frenzied and hot… _God, it was so hot_… And Sonny felt something between his legs stir to life. _No, Dominick, you control this shit right now._ This is so wrong, he thought to himself. But the woman kept at it and when he closed his eyes, all he could picture was some hot Latina writhing in bed. He reached down to touch himself, but stopped when he realized how wrong this was on so many levels.

Nick was screwing this girl, and even if she sounded really hot and she was turning him on; he couldn't get off when Nick was in half of the equation. Sonny balled his fists and rested them on the bed. He stared blankly at the ceiling. But her moans just got longer and louder, and then there was a quiet, almost breathless lull. Until finally, she purred one last time and there was a strain in her voice as she cried out her lover's name, _"Nick! Oh my god! Nick!"_

Moments later, the sounds stopped, replaced by a silence that he wished would eat him alive.

* * *

Sonny glanced at the clock in the hallway. It had been seventeen minutes since he got out of bed and needed to pee. When he walked out of Zara's room and reached for the doorknob to the bathroom, he realized the shower was on and Nick must've been inside. So, he waited until Nick would finally finish his shower so he could take that much-needed piss. Feet pointed inward, he shifted from one foot to the other, suppressing the natural reflex to relieve himself.

He checked the time again. He had been waiting eighteen minutes now, and god knows how long Nick was in there, probably jerking himself off, before Sonny woke up with his full bladder. Pressing his forehead and crossing his legs, he tried to imagine the most arid dessert. But the picture gave way to an oasis, then he started visualizing a beach, and then he was seeing waves crash on the shore. The sound of the shower was just taunting him and he was felt himself quickly losing control.

_That's it_, he thought to himself as he turned the doorknob. "I'm comin' in!"

* * *

One hand braced on the wall while the other tangled into wet, blonde tresses. Gasping at the suction and the slick heat, Nick dared a look down to watch Amanda Rollins take him into her mouth. She licked, laved, and sucked like this was her first meal of the day; and technically, that was true. Her lashes fluttered up towards him and she winked at him just as she coiled her nimble tongue around his head. Nick's knees nearly buckled down, but he managed to press his palm against the tile for support.

Amanda worked him with her hot mouth and slick hands. The faster she worked, the deeper she got him, until he was hitting the back of her throat. Her hands twisted around his base, and he nearly lost his balance again. _So close… Oh, sweet Jesus… so, so close to shooting this load…_

"I'm comin' in!"

Blood drained from Nick's face. He popped right out of Amanda's mouth and she looked up at him in complete horror. Nick matched her expression before realization came in and that horror turned into guilt. She caught the sudden shift in his features; Amanda twisted her mouth and narrowed her eyes. He mouthed a pathetic 'sorry'. She slowly got up from her knees and she stared at him with fire burning behind those blue eyes.

Their stare down was disrupted when they heard the sound of the intruder pissing into the toilet, followed by an extremely hearty sigh of relief.

"Sorry Amaro," he started. "I couldn't hold it in. Didn't wanna have to piss in your kitchen sink"

Amanda's eyes bugged out of her skull. She knew that Staten Island accent anywhere. 'Carisi?!' she mouthed at Nick, to which he returned another silent apology. 'I forgot,' his lips moved. Amanda glared at him incredulously before she shook her head. 'How? Why?'

Nick lowered his head like a chastised puppy before he glanced up and pressed his finger over his lips. He pulled the curtain just far enough to poke his head out to see Sonny leaning back slightly, aiming his stream into the toilet. "Couldn't you have pissed outside?" Nick spat.

Sonny twisted his torso around to look at Nick. "Mornin' to you too," he smiled sheepishly. Sonny waggled his brows and Nick felt his stomach drop. _Oh shit, he had heard them last night. How could he have forgotten that he had given Carisi keys to his house?_

A pair of red lace panties stood out against the stark white bath rug. It caught Sonny's eyes, and it all started to make sense. Of course, he smacked himself on the forehead. Nick's woman from last night hadn't left. She was still here; in fact, she was in the shower with him. Now, he knew why Nick was taking his sweet time in the bathroom. His eyes shimmered with mischief as he tucked himself into his boxers and flushed the toilet. Sonny then bent down to pick up the lacy… thong. He pouted his lips and nodded approvingly.

Nick froze in complete dread before he snapped back into reality. "Put those down!" He leaned out of the shower to reach for Amanda's unmentionables. "Hand 'em over!" Nick snatched them away.

Amanda covered her mouth to quell the yelp that nearly shot out of her mouth. Bunched up in Nick's hands was her thong. _Oh shit._ Carisi just touched her underwear. _Oh god_, now she had to burn the damn thing. Amanda wasn't sure what she wanted more at this moment – to kick Carisi's ass out of the bathroom, yell at Nick for forgetting whatever it was that had led to this mess, or dissolve into oblivion. She was seriously considering the last option, not sure if it was possible to recover from this embarrassment.

"She in there with you?" Sonny wiggled his brows playfully. "Hola, mamacita!"

Nick shot him an icy, deathly glare; and it gave him all the answers he needed.

Sonny raised his arms up in surrender, turned on his heel, and walked out the door.

Amanda's eyes widened at Nick as she poked him hard on the shoulder. "What the hell?" she hissed at him, stepping out of the spray of water to corner him against the wall. Nick's back hit the tile as he stared down at the fire burning in Amanda's eyes.

"I'm sorry," he gulped down. "Carisi needed a place to stay, and I owed him a favor, so I gave him a set of keys, and Liv was tellin' me to go, and I knew there'd be traffic, so I wasn't really thinkin' about it, and I must've forgot." Nick explained rapidly and desperately. He figured the faster he got all the information out there, the sooner Amanda would back away with those eyes that could commit murder with just one look.

"You owed him?"

Nick's eyes flashed from guilt to self-righteousness. "Yeah…" he began, "and I wouldn't have owed him had it not been for you."

Amanda's jaw dropped and she retracted her head away from him. "Me? What did I do?"

"Remember two weeks ago?" Nick lowered his eyes and a smug smirk formed across his lips. "The handcuffs?"

Amanda covered her mouth with her hands. She let out a shaky breath. It was two weeks ago when she had used up lost hours and decided to take the day off. Turned out not working on a weekday was actually quite boring, so she texted Nick to come over during his lunch break. They were only supposed to sneak in a quickie; but then she got the bright idea to cuff him to her bedpost. It was fun – _really, really fun_ – while it lasted; but when it came time to uncuff him and send him back to the precinct, she couldn't find her keys. Naked and cuffed to her bedpost, Nick laid helplessly in Amanda's bed for three hours.

She tore her apartment inside out looking for the keys. By the first hour, Carisi had called Nick and told him that they were under orders to interview a suspect. Under pressure, Nick gave a lame excuse about a family emergency, and Carisi didn't seem to buy it. All he said was that Nick 'owed him one'.

Eventually, after ransacking her place for hours, Amanda found the keys to the handcuffs in a bowl of dog food. Frannie must've gotten to them and dropped them in there. Once she cleaned off the brown, beef-flavored gunk, she ran back into her bedroom and freed Nick. That day, he decided to swear off handcuff play in the bedroom.

"This is just as much your fault as it is mine."

Amanda narrowed her eyes. "Hey, I wasn't the one who invited him to stay the night, and then completely spaced –" she stopped midway through her tirade. "No," she said, her face turning ghostly pale. "Oh my god… He heard us having sex last night!"

* * *

Sonny chuckled as he crossed the hall into Zara's bedroom. He and Nick worked together for close to a year now, and he liked to think they were friends… bros, even. He'd always sensed that Nick was wary about them being friends, but after today, that might have all changed. Sonny pictured himself walking into work later that morning and giving Nick a fistbump. He almost felt giddy about it, too.

The light on his phone blinked. Sonny picked it up to see there was a voicemail from Serge.

"Carisi, we got a call to 66th Street and Lexington. I need you to go check it out before coming in," Benson's voice ordered. "Take Rollins with you."

As soon as the voicemail ended, he scanned his contacts for Rollins number. It didn't take too long because the blonde detective was actually one of his many recent calls. Lately, they were partnered up on a lot of cases; especially since Fin was using up all those lost hours doing god-knows-what. Sonny liked to think Amanda was starting to warm up to him. No doubt, she still sassed him and put him in his place whenever he put his foot in his mouth. But now that he thought about it, back in elementary school, girls used to do the same thing to him. Come junior high, those girls were all over him. Give it time, and Amanda would _really_ warm up to him.

Grinning smugly as he pressed 'call', he anticipated and looked forward to hearing her sleepy morning voice. She'd probably want to kill him for waking her up, but he could always use the good old 'Sergeant's orders' as his excuse. The phone rang in his ear. Then there was an echo. It rang in his ear one more time, and it echoed again.

Sonny creased his brows and pulled the phone from his ear. Even when he had pulled it away, he could still hear the ring. _That's weird._ He stuck his head out of Zara's bedroom and crept down the hall to follow the sound of the rings, which got louder with every step. At the end of the hall, he pushed the door wide open. It was Nick's bedroom. Sheets were strewn on the bed, clothes scattered all over the floor, and on top of the bedside table was a vibrating, blinking, ringing cell phone with his number on it.

* * *

Nick and Amanda avoided the spray of hot water as they argued in hushed tones. Amanda was telling him to get out of the shower and to distract Carisi while she snuck out. Great plan, but how was Nick supposed to distract him? It wasn't like he had a giant house with a ton of rooms; one could practically see the back of the house from the front door. So how the hell was Amanda supposed to get dressed and make her escape without Carisi seeing her? But Amanda just narrowed her eyes at him and whipped her head to the side, telling him to get his ass moving.

As Nick stepped out of the shower, there was a knock on the bathroom door. Carisi's voice reverberated from the other side. "Uh, I gotta go…" he started uneasily. "Serge got a call and told me to head down to Lennox Hill. Uh, thanks again for lettin' me stay, Amaro… Sorry again 'bout this morning."

Amanda and Nick exchanged looks before they both shrugged. They heard footsteps padding down the hall, and the sound of the front door discernibly slamming against its frame. A huge wash of relief fell upon them. Nick held his hands up and told her to wait as he wrapped a towel around his hips. Poking his head out, he observed the vacant hallway. He peered into Zara's room and it was unoccupied; her bed was made, but even his eight year-old kid could make the bed better than Carisi. He checked - even double-checked - the living room and the kitchen. All signs of Carisi were gone. He opened the bathroom door to see Amanda wrapped in a towel.

"Coast's clear."

She exhaled deeply before she gave him that icy look.

Nick followed after her, trying to apologize, but she was quick on her feet towards the master bedroom. "C'mon, Manda," he started. "I was distracted and I forgot."

She spun on her heels and stared at him with a dumbfounded look on her face.

"I was running low on sleep," he scratched the back of his head, knowing exactly what that excuse implied.

"So this is my fault?"

Nick dropped his shoulders before he reached out for her. Amanda tried to pull away, but eventually yielded to the warm touch of his fingers on her damp skin. "I'm sorry," he pouted his lips and gave her his best puppy dog eyes. "But you gotta admit, we wouldn't be here in the first place if you hadn't lost those keys."

She let her head fall on his chest as Nick wrapped his arms around her waist. "Fine, we're even."

Nick tilted her chin up with his hand and kissed her lips. What started out soft and sweet turned ravenous, as Amanda pushed against the back of his head. Nick took a step forward and led her towards the bedroom. It was still early in the morning, and they could afford another round. Who needed to eat breakfast anyway? There were stale donuts and coffee in the precinct, and that should satisfy them until lunch. Besides, they'd save a lot of time on account of not having any clothes to remove. His deft fingers trailed down her jaw, her neck, and finally to that knot the towel formed between her breasts. Lips and tongue and just the faintest hint of teeth grazed as he gently pushed her against the door. As the knot untangled under his fingers, Nick pulled away from the kiss to admire the view and the impending fall.

But his hands immediately and desperately went for the towel, holding it up against her body. His eyes stared back behind Amanda in horror. She spun around to gasp at what halted Nick's movements. There, sitting on the bed was Sonny Carisi, jaw on the floor and eyes as big as the shit that was 'bout to go down.

Sonny's delayed reaction was to use his hand to cover his eyes. He separated his fingers to take a peek at his two colleagues. Raising his shoulders, his mouth turned up to an impish smirk.

"Am I interruptin' now?"


	5. Creamsicle

_**AN:** Thank you for the reviews to **Don't Mean To Interrupt**. I'm so happy you guys found it funny. A lot of you even said it was your favorite among the one-shots I posted, and that's really awesome to hear. Thank you again for reading my work and giving me your feedback._

_My next request was from another anon over at tumblr who asked for one where Amanda was being a tease and Nick was being impatient. To be honest, I really struggled with this one because it could be set in any scene. It could be so many things, but because of that I felt like I didn't have much to work with. So, I definitely prefer requests where you guys set the scene and I just build from it. Anyway, this one-shot is a bit more AU than anything I've previously written. It's set somewhere around season 14 after Nick's divorce. The characters are based more on how they were in those early seasons when Nick was cockier and Amanda was so eager to solve cases and prove herself. It was a time when they butt heads over cases. Rollaro didn't exist yet, but us, fans, who wanted to see it could sense that sexual tension just bubbling to the surface. By nature of the request, this is also a bit steamier than the other one-shots, so consider that your warning._

_Send your requests to **fuckyeahnickamaro** at tumblr or send me a PM here on fanfiction. As always, read, enjoy, and review. _

* * *

**Creamsicle**

* * *

Amanda's POV

The voices on the radio announced it was the hottest day in the last six years. If they were exaggerating to get climate change deniers to get on board with the program, then by all means go for it. I didn't really care about the integrity of the radio DJs. All I could focus on was staying alive and not melting into a puddle of flesh and connective tissue under the bright glare of the sun. The heat from the pavement permeated through the soles of my shoes. I wasn't even a minute outside from the car to the doors of the Montauk DMV, and I could already feel my hair stick to the back of my neck.

Pushing my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose, I glanced over at Detective Nick Amaro, who looked to be basking under this heat wave. His eyes covered in dark aviators, he looked up at the sky and inhaled the fresh sea breeze. A smile curled up in the corner of his lips. "Great day, huh?"

I rolled my eyes. The whole trip from Manhattan to Long Island, Amaro wouldn't shut up about summer and spending the weekend with his kid at the beach. _Ok fine_, it was something he mentioned in passing, but he was so damn eager about this sweltering heat that it annoyed me more than it should have. I followed him into the building, hoping that once inside we'd be welcomed by a cool blast of AC.

Instead, we walked into a roaster. Bodies lined up in disorganized rows, fanning themselves with forms and clipboards to beat the heat and the sticky humidity. Their air conditioner was busted, and in the unventilated closed space, it was a nightmare. Even Amaro's enthusiasm for summer days and beach weather seemed to disappear from his face.

We approached one of the clerks, a middle-aged woman dressed in a floral blouse and cat-eye glasses. She pretended to be focused on something on her computer screen, but her hands were busy filing her nails into talons. _That was a thing now?_ I took the lead and bent down to level with the excised circle of glass.

"Hi, I'm Detective Rollins," I held up my badge. "And this is Detective Amaro. We're from Manhattan SVU and we need to speak to the person in charge so we can access some files pertinent to an investigation."

The lady pursed her lips in annoyance and didn't even bother to look up from her talons. "Person in charge is taking a mental health day. I can't let you touch nothin' without my boss' approval, unless you got a warrant." She finally looked up and gave me the once-over. "Do you got a warrant?"

I shook my head. "Is there any way we can just go to the back and look for ourselves? The case in question involves a young girl who was raped and kidnapped by a man who has a car registered—"

"I don't need to hear 'bout that." The woman held her manicured hand up and stopped me. "Look, blondie; no warrant, no _looky_."

I sighed and gave Amaro a look of complete disbelief. I expected him to share my sentiments – that this three-hour trip was a complete waste of time – but he just raised his brows in condescension and took a step forward. He leaned down against the ledge and leveled with the woman behind the glass.

"Hey, Monica," he greeted, reading her nametag. Amaro smiled brightly as the woman looked up to meet his eyes. "Detective Amaro, but you can call me Nick."

Monica smiled coyly as she set the nail file down and gave Amaro her undivided attention.

_Well, if a penis was all it took to get this woman to listen…_

He small-talked her and got to know the story of her life – single mom with four kids, currently reading _Twenty-Five Acts_, wishing a tall glass of water would come into her place of employment and distract her from the work she wasn't already doing. After a few minutes of exchanging stories about kids saying the darndest things, Amaro finally got to the job at hand.

"So, uh, about those files, Monica," he started. "We just want to take a quick look, make a copy, and be out of your hair… Nice color, by the way."

"Oh, Nick," she waved her hand at him and giggled like a schoolgirl. "You're makin' me blush."

"I'm just bein' honest," he bit his lip. _Dear Lord almighty_, Amaro was pulling all the stops. I would've barfed right then and there, but I doubt that would've helped in my dehydrated state. "So, you think we can have a look at those files? Won't take longer than ten minutes. I promise."

By the way he looked at her, it looked like he was promising her a trip to Paris.

Monica pursed her lips, but not in that same annoyed expression she gave me just minutes earlier. "All right, but I'll need to supervise," she said, fluttering her lashes. Amaro winked at her and stood up straight to look at me. He raised his chin and gave me the smuggest smirk I'd ever seen from him. And trust me, I've seen a lot. Why'd he have to be so damn cocky all the time?

* * *

The basement of Montauk's DMV was lined with boxes upon boxes of weathered files. Thankfully, the space was cooler and a lot less humid than it was upstairs. I was busy searching through the case files and trying to get this done in the allotted time, but Nick seemed to be too busy charming the Bermuda shorts off of Monica. "You know, Nick, there's a lemon ice stand across the street," she began, leaning against the shelves and hovering over Amaro. "You could probably use somethin' to cool you down."

Nick chuckled. "Uh, thanks, Monica. But as cops, we can't accept gratuities."

"Mmm…" She clicked her tongue, and let it linger on her lips for far too long. "Your boss don't have to find out…"

Amaro pressed his lips together and gave her a tight smile, before he resumed filing through the boxes. Monica was practically drooling over him, watching every movement and fanning herself with a discarded folder. It seemed as if she would keep him down in that basement to be her plaything if she could. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to return to the squad room without him; but then Benson would probably have my head cut off if anything happened to her precious partner.

I just needed to find that file, because the sooner it was in my hands, the sooner this trip would be over. The folders were worn and covered with dust, making my nose itch and my eyes water. The air down in the basement was cool, but it still smelled like some sort of festering foot. I leafed through a few folders and finally found the last name we were looking for, but it wasn't our guy.

"Found it!"

_Goddamnit._

My eyes narrowed to see Amaro holding the folder up triumphantly. He quickly got on his feet and gave me that smug smirk. Monica looked on, proud as can be; as if finding an old file in that basement was a feat worthy of heroic adoration.

* * *

After Amaro made copies, gloated some more, and politely and sweetly turned Monica down for a date – saying he was recently divorced and not ready for his heart to be broken – we made our way out of that building. It was like a fire pit roasting a foot.

"Good thing we got those files, huh?" He said, sliding into the driver's side of the precinct-supplied car. "Could'a been stalled on this case all weekend."

Amaro was right. If we hadn't gotten those files, we would've had to wait until Monday, maybe even later just to get that warrant and make this trip back to Montauk. But I wasn't going to tell him that. Not when his pride was rocketing to the stratosphere. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of stroking his ego. He thinks he's such hot shit, well he might have better luck charming the Monicas of the world; but that was easy. I could've easily done the same thing had it been some Joe Schmoe behind that glass window.

He fiddled with the knob for the AC but it just kept spurting out hot air. I groaned and closed the vent on my side of the car. "I think the AC's busted." _No shit, Sherlock._ Amaro messed around with the controls but cold air never came out of those vents. Eventually, he sighed and rolled down the windows. "It takes the precinct an hour to get us a car," he muttered under his breath. "And the one they send us is crap."

"You say that like it's the worst thing to happen to you all day."

Amaro looked at me with a puzzled expression on his face. "It _is_." He must've seen me cringe, because I can see that mischievous glint in his dark eyes. "I guess we can't say the same thing for you, Rollins?" He tilted his chin up and raised his eyebrows. "O for 2? You're not out of the game… Although, we got a three hour drive ahead of us, so plenty of time to strike out."

That's it. Someone needed to muzzle Amaro.

* * *

We were driving down the freeway when I had this idea. Amaro thought he had this case, thought he had rescued the day, thought he had granted the whole squad a weekend. He thought he could just charm and manipulate his way to get what he wanted. That may have worked on Monica, but it wouldn't work on me. I was adamant to prove it so I initiated a ploy that I had mastered back in high school. It was something my mom and Kim were quite good at themselves; maybe it was a genetic thing – a testament to my messed-up family. The ploy was classic bait-and-switch.

Lure the man in and cut off the line just as he's been reeled in and thinks you're available. Admittedly, I hadn't really done the classic bait-and-switch since high school when my level of maturity was questionable, but this was no time for me to second guess my conscience. Someone needed to put Amaro in his place and remind him that he's not this… this… _Latin Superman._

I pulled my hair up in a ponytail, making sure to take my sweet time as I pulled it through the hair tie. I caught Nick cast a sideways glance and his gaze lingered on my neck for a moment before he turned it back to the road. It was a simple move, but it never failed.

* * *

Amaro was doing ten over the limit, but the breeze that hit our faces was still warm. My blouse stuck to my skin. It was uncomfortable, but probably not nearly as uncomfortable as Amaro felt in his long-sleeved shirt and tie. He had talked a big game about how much he loved the summer, how much he thrived in this weather; but in this car, I could see he was starting to look miserable. I unbuttoned the top few buttons of my blouse and leaned back. My eyes studied his face, but he seemed to not have seen me. He was focused on the road ahead.

I unbuttoned the rest of my blouse and slipped it off, leaving me in a white camisole. Amaro's attention was definitely divided now.

"Hot?" He swallowed hard.

I nodded and gave him a shy smile. I don't know if it was the heat or something else, but my cheeks were burning up. "Yeah…" I trailed off, stretching my neck and running my fingers against my throat.

He pulled a water bottle from the side of his door and handed it over to me. "You wanna stop an' get something to eat?"

I shook my head. I still wanted to get back to the city as soon as possible. "No, the water's just fine," I let my fingers linger against his skin as I slipped the bottle from his grasp. "Thanks." I drank the water and tilted my head far back. I swear, it didn't even occur to me that the lacy bits at the top of my bra had peeked over my cami. Once I realized it though, there was no point trying to pull the neckline back up; not when Amaro was looking at me like that. He turned back to the road, but he was straining to keep them on there. His jaw was clenched and his knuckles were white from gripping that wheel.

* * *

We veered towards a highway exit and stopped for gas just as the sun was setting, and blinding us through the windshield. Amaro had been silent the entire drive so it was no surprise when he wordlessly got out of the car and walked towards the pump. I got out and went into the convenience store. I roamed the aisles and stopped when I saw myself in one of those round, fisheye mirrors. I pulled my top up to cover my cleavage and tied my hair into a neater ponytail. _God, Amanda. You're not your mom._

I glanced outside to see Amaro chatting with a woman filling her SUV. He was smiling flirtatiously, the same way he did when he was talking to Monica from the DMV. Amaro just wouldn't quit; they weren't even working a case anymore. The woman pointed to her car and he waved. The windows opened and two heads poked out and smiled at him.

Looking back down, I studied my options. I slid the freezer door open to pick up an orange creamsicle. I was hot and a little hungry; but I didn't want to stop for food. That would have required me to sit down for a meal with Amaro, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. I just needed something to satiate me for the last half hour of our journey. After paying for the creamsicle with some loose change, I walked over to the car. Amaro was still chatting up Ms. Soccer Mom and her two boys. He turned around and pointed over to me. "Yeah, that's her right there… Detective Rollins."

My head perked up just as I pulled the passenger side door open. The woman gave me a once-over. What is it with the women in this part of the city? They were reminding me again of why I'd left rural Georgia.

"She's a police officer?" The woman knitted her brows doubtfully.

I gave a tight-lipped smiled before I got into the passenger seat. _Bitch_. But then again, who could blame her when I looked like this? I was dressed in a practically see-through cami – not exactly dress code for us. I watched as Amaro said something to her boys that made their eyes widen. Ms. Soccer Mom looked on like she wanted to eat him up and introduce him to her boys like he was their new daddy.

Seconds later, Amaro joined me in the car and his eyes fell onto the unopened popsicle in my hands. "Where's mine?" He teased.

I chewed on my lip to contain the spiteful remark just begging to slip. Instead, I just gave him my best smile. And with all the Southern hospitality I could muster, I said to him, "thought we could share."

* * *

Licking the creamsicle, I savored the orange flavor on my tongue. It was actually really refreshing and just what I needed to quench that thirst and alleviate the heat radiating from by body. But this wasn't just an innocent purchase. No, I had planned it out in my head as Amaro was flirting with Ms. Soccer Mom. And when I had a plan, I needed to execute it. I placed the cylindrical popsicle in my mouth and pulled it out with an audible pop. Nick tensed in his seat, and my eyes lit up in mischief. "You want some?"

He swallowed hard and furrowed his brows. "Um, no thanks."

"You sure?"

"I'm good, Rollins."

"Are you… _good_?" I asked, leaning over to place the creamsicle close to his lips. His eyes darkened and his jaw clenched. With my free hand, I reached for his tie and tugged on the knot. "You seem a little tense."

The car veered off the side of the road and it jerked to a stop, sending the creamsicle onto my camisole. "Shit!"

Amaro didn't even look apologetic. He just looked angry and confused as he stared out of the windshield, hands still gripping the steering wheel. He turned to me and narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing?"

I shrugged my shoulders as I tried to wipe off the sticky, orange stain on my shirt. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Why you actin' so weird all of a sudden? One second you hate me… And the next…" He trailed off, unsure of whether or not he should finish that thought. It seemed Nick wasn't too sure what I was doing either.

"I don't hate you," I mumbled as I pulled the top away from my skin to keep it from sticking. I glanced over at him and he was pulling the knot on his tie. He unbuttoned the top few buttons and sank on his seat.

"You still got some water?"

Handing him the bottle, I watched him drink it down. His brows were creased and he looked really annoyed. Why was he acting like this anyway? Stopping on the side of the road? Was this really necessary?

I remembered my blouse and figured I could change into that to get out of my dirty clothes. Without missing a beat, I unbuckled my seatbelt and casually pulled my top over my head.

"Whoa! Whoa!" Nick explained, turning his head away. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm changing," I replied nonchalantly. "Never seen a woman in her bra, Amaro?"

He turned around and glared at me, his eyes burning with anger and something else I couldn't quite place. Oh, I've seen the anger before. Plenty of times, actually. But there was that other look, and I swear I hadn't seen it before.

I didn't have much time to study his eyes and figure it out though because Amaro had crashed his lips onto mine. I yelped in surprise and blinked back, just to make sure it was real. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be bait-and-switch, but we were clearly well past the point of switching. I had lured him in, but before I could cut off the line, he had jumped right out of the water.

Suddenly my brain got all fogged up and I was melting into the kiss. Amaro's hand cradled the back of my neck as the other one dug into my hip. I couldn't even process it all but somehow, I found myself unbuttoning his shirt. He pressed his lips down the column of my neck as my fingertips brushed against the ripples of his abs. _Oh god._ He sucked on that sweet spot right behind my ear. He must've felt my body react because he continued to work around it with his searing tongue.

Amaro's hands cupped my breasts. And that was when it all flashed like a gunshot to the brain. I was in a cop car in my bra. I was getting to second base with Detective Nick Amaro. I was in a cop car in my bra, getting to second base with Detective Nick Amaro. _Oh shit._ I whipped away from him and covered my chest with my arms. We were both breathing heavy. He looked at me with furrowed brows and his mouth slightly open in confusion. His eyes, though, were glazed in dark lust. That's what that fire was; it wasn't just anger, but it was his desire.

_Fuck._

My eyes traveled to his broad shoulders, the tense muscles of his arms, down to the flat stomach I felt with my own fingertips. And even in dusk, as the sky colored in shades of orange and purple, I saw the bulge straining against the fabric of his pants. Amaro noticed my fixed gaze and a crimson flush spread through his cheeks.

I pulled the blouse through my arms. I needed to do something to clear my head. I couldn't just go outside and run. I didn't even know where the hell we were, and it was dark, and we were a few meters from the freeway – not exactly the safest place to be going out for a jog.

"I'm going to drive," I announced, opening the door. Thank god, Amaro didn't put up a fight. He just got out of the car and adjusted his pants, before he walked around and handed me the keys.

* * *

The ride back to Manhattan was quiet and awkward, and everything you'd expect after making out with a co-worker. Amaro looked uncomfortable, but he seemed to settle down and stopped shifting in his seat after a couple of minutes. I didn't mean to give the poor guy blue balls. It was never even supposed to happen like that. _Bait-and-switch, remember?_ Maybe I was just off my game, seeing as I hadn't played since high school when I put those cocky football players in their place. _Wait._ Wasn't Nick a cocky football player? What made him so goddamn different than those guys in Loganville High that I couldn't execute the plan this time around?

The plan was to show him that I couldn't be manipulated, that I wouldn't fall for his charming smile, his chiseled bone structure, and those dark soulful eyes. But instead, I lured him in, and when he sank his teeth into me, I let him. No, I didn't just let him. I kissed him back. So, now, he was probably thinking I was into him enough to kiss him back; but I pulled away. I was the one who ended it. _I was the one who gave him blue balls, damn it!_

As we turned into the precinct lot, Amaro sighed. "At least I got the job done, so this day hasn't been a complete waste," he muttered.

My eyes shot up. I turned into a spot at the corner of the lot and turned to him. He had his hand on the door, ready to head out but he noticed the look on my face and stopped.

_Screw bait-and-switch._ After putting the car on park, I unbuckled my seatbelt and practically threw myself at Amaro. Our mouths connected and he slackened all that built-up tension under my touch. Straddling him, I trailed my lips down his neck. He gasped as I laved on his throat. My hands worked on the buttons of his shirt, then he pulled his arms out swiftly and tossed the shirt to the back of the car. He pulled my blouse over my head, and didn't waste time unbuckling my belt. I kissed him down his chest as I shimmied his pants down his legs. I sat back, breathing heavy, our hips joined together. I rocked back and forth, urging to feel his hardness.

When I felt him press against me, I thought I saw stars. What was supposed to be a plan to make out and distract him to the point of blue balls before making a run for it in the office, spiraled into something else entirely. I felt out of my body as Nick (_oh, was I calling him that now?_) slipped my panties down my legs. It was just supposed to be harmless teasing to prove a point… A point that I can't seem to recall when something hard, long, and thick is pointing its way to my center.

My mind flashed back to Nick flirting with the lady behind the glass and the soccer mom at the gas station. I could hear that flirtatious chuckle that made me want to rip his head off; but then it's replaced by the sound of ripping foil. I sank my teeth down into his shoulder blades as he entered me. My walls rippled as I sheathed him completely. A scream strained against the back of my throat.

For a split second, I thought about the fact that we were in a cop car, just steps away from the 16th Precinct. Yeah, it's dark, but anyone walking by can sure as hell see the car rocking. But those doubts immediately evaporated once Nick was pounding into me, his breath in my ear and his hand tangled up in my hair. The other hand – its place I wondered for a brief second – found its way between our bodies. The next thing I knew, I was seeing those stars again.

My body shivered even in the heat and, _boy_, was it hot. Nick's skin was like lava and I just felt myself melt right into it with ever thrust. I crashed in waves, biting down on his skin to keep us from getting caught. Moments later, the volcano erupted and Nick shuddered into my embrace.

_No, that wasn't an embrace._ I straddled him, I had my arms around his shoulders, and he gripped me by the waist. But that wasn't an embrace… those breathless minutes we held onto each other… that was _not_ cuddling. That was just a plan executed far beyond the scope of what was originally intended.

I pulled myself away from him and wiped the sweat off my brow. His eyes were closed and he was covered in a sheen of sweat. If I didn't hate him so much (_yeah, fine, I admit it. I hate Amaro. But I've got a bit of a soft spot for Nick_)… If I didn't hate him so much, I'd think this sight of my shirtless co-worker would be sexy as hell.

I pulled my pants up and buttoned my blouse. Nick was still catching his breath as he turned around to search for the shirt he tossed in the back. I made up some excuse about needing to go to the washroom to clean up. While he had his head down, searching for the missing shirt, I pulled the file.

* * *

Nick's POV

I could still taste her on my lips, like orange creamsicle and something else so sweet, but not-so artificially flavored. I was stretched out across the car, digging through the back to retrieve my shirt, when I heard the door slam. I was hoping I could talk to her and see what all this meant. It was confusing. I always thought Rollins hated my guts, but on the ride back she was flirting with me. Now. It's been a while since I've been with anyone other than Maria, but I could still pick up the signs and tell when a woman was flirting. I didn't earn my reputation being awesome at interrogations by being oblivious and unobservant.

The thing is, Rollins's flirting seemed to come out of nowhere. I tried to keep it professional in the car but she did that thing with the creamsicle and her tongue. And then she brought it close to my mouth. Then my mind – my basic Neanderthal mind – just pictured her pink lips being that close to mine. Then she leaned in and tugged on my tie, and I thought it was her way of telling me to let loose, because I was so tightly wound and I knew she could sense it, too.

See, I've noticed Amanda Rollins for a while now. No doubt, she's an attractive woman, but I was married when I met her and I just never allowed myself to go there. I was focused on my marriage and my family, and Rollins just became this co-worker that I frequently butted heads with. For a while, I thought we were cool. I mean, when I worked in Narc, I got into heated arguments often with the other guys. It was just the nature of working with me, I guess. I'm a strong personality with strong opinions, and I've got a reputation for being a stubborn hothead. Rollins is stubborn too, and when she's mad she tends to cut deep.

I thought we were ok, but she seemed to take our spats personally. She wouldn't even talk to me or be friendly with me when the cases were over. It almost seemed like she was obligated to be civil just because we worked together. I know how she was with Fin and Munch, and even Captain Cragen, but she backed off from forming that kind of camaraderie with my partner and me.

But after I signed my divorce papers, I started noticing things about Rollins. She seemed to get pissed off whenever I was right about something. Then her lip would curl into a smile whenever I was wrong. It only pushed me to get things right though, because I wanted to see what was making her tick, and why she was reacting that way towards me. I wanted to know if she really hated me or if it was something else altogether. The more she masked that anger and whatever issues she had with me, the more I got intrigued. And maybe it was a little childish – this unspoken competition to outdo each other – but a conversation with Munch taught me to see it in an entirely different light. Munch, in all his wisdom, told me that it was just built up sexual tension. Of course, I denied it, which is what you do when you don't want the department screwing you over and transferring you to a different squad because you couldn't keep it in your pants. But Munch might have been right all along.

What he wasn't right about, though, was that warning about divorce being mentally challenging, and how people going through it often looked for a rebound to heal the wounds. I didn't think of Rollins as a rebound though. Lame as it sounds, I kind of hoped something more would come out of this. Sure, I usually didn't start off relationships with sex. I'm a pretty traditional guy and I like to court women with flowers and romantic dinners. But nothing in my life has quite gone to plan in the last year, so maybe something different would do me some good. I certainly felt a lot less lonely now than I did when I woke up this morning to an empty house.

But I was in an empty car, with my fly open and my shirt a wrinkled mess. Amanda left. I was alone. Ending the day just like I started it. I turned on the light and looked for the folder. I remembered placing it between the glovebox and the driver's seat, but it wasn't there.

_Damn it, Rollins._

* * *

The elevator doors opened and I stepped out towards the squad room. When I came in, Amanda was getting a pat on the back from Captain Cragen. My partner was sending her a smile from her desk. Fin and Munch were thanking her for getting those files and sparing them another weekend stuck at the office.

"Kid, where have you been?" Munch asked, noticing my wrinkled shirt and disheveled hair. "Rollins said your car's AC blew out, but, wow, you look like you fell through all nine circles of Dante's Inferno."

"At least you got the weekend to sleep this one off, man," Fin added, punching me lightly on the shoulder. "Good thing Rollins came through with those files, huh?"

My eyes dart up and I glare in her direction. She plays innocent, batting her eyelashes and pretending she doesn't see me. Handing the files over to Cragen, she didn't even correct him or tell the truth when he thanked her for _'saving the day'_. The rest of the squad dispersed back to their desks. Amanda walked towards me and pointed to an orange spot on my chest. Her eyes gleamed with playfulness as they locked into my gaze. "Looks like you've got some orange creamsicle on your shirt. Might want to clean that up."

She walked away down the hall, hips swaying and pony tail bouncing with every step.

_Oh, she thinks she's won?_

We were only getting started.


	6. April

_**AN**: Thank you, thank you, thank you for the reviews to **Creamsicle**! That chapter was a struggle and a half to write because I had no idea where I was really going with it, and also I, personally, don't think I can write smut very well. It was kinda semi-smutty, but you guys seemed to think it was hot, so awesome! Also, I got some requests on tumblr that asked me to do a sequel; like, a continuation of the teasing wars. These are meant to be one-shots, but I'm not opposed to doing "sequels". I think I'll touch on the teasing in future fics and reference past one-shots; but mostly, I want each chapter to be able to stand on its own. _

_This next request was from another anon who asked for a fic where **Nick turns 40 and Amanda does something special for him.** The anon mentioned WL's hint that the last part of the season would deal with Nick trying to figure out life at 40 now that it hasn't turned out how it thought it would. This was also requested on Danny's birthday (so, yay!). Anyway, I took some liberties and decided to write this around Nick's 41st birthday instead. It'll make more sense as you read the story (I hope; also Danny really turned 41 and in Padre Sandunguero, it was implied that Nick was already 40... so yeah, details). This is more Romance/Comfort/Angst than Humor... You can blame it on the singer-songwriter playlist I had on while typing this. In other words, don't blame me for hitting you with the feels. It was the music, ok?_

_Send your requests to **fuckyeahnickamaro** over at tumblr. And while you're there, I wrote a little piece/essay/rant/whatever-you-wanna-call-it about Rollaro. I think everyone who ships Rollaro should give it a chance and read it, and everyone who misunderstands this ship should also give it a chance and read it. I'm not trying to change minds. Just trying to defend something that I've spent a good number of hours writing (maybe, obsessing) about. Anyway, back to what y'all came here for... Here's the 6th one-shot in this series._

_Don't forget to read, enjoy, and review. _

* * *

**April**

* * *

There was no obligation to return the sentiment. There was no IOU for the flowers, the dinner, or the late-night stroll down my street. But after what he pulled out of his sleeve, I couldn't help but feel compelled to do the same for him. I know we promised to keep things low-key. We were both adults, well past the age of celebrating birthdays. We both agreed to a 'no presents' rule just because we were too swamped at work to go shopping. That, and we didn't even really know what we wanted. It was easy to go on Amazon, window shop, fill up a cart, and press the red X mark on the screen. But when it came down to asking what we wanted for birthdays and holidays, our brains just went blank.

But Nick bypassed the rules without really breaking them.

He was already going through so much lately, having just heard about the likelihood of his son moving across the country. Yet, he still found the time to sneak in a phone call to a flower shop and have a bouquet of white magnolias delivered to my doorstep first thing in the morning. He was weighing his options, wondering whether or not he should chase that cascade of family members moving to the West Coast. Yet, he still found the time to make dinner reservations at that hole-in-the-wall bistro in Brooklyn. He was questioning his worth as a long distance father. Yet, he still found the time to pick me up one of those indulgent vanilla lattes, that I'd feel too guilty buying for myself. He was really torn about the prospect of uprooting the life he built in New York. Yet, he still found the time to skirt our rule of 'no presents' when he gifted Frannie a set of printed bandanas.

"They don't count 'cause they ain't for you," he indicated, tying one with a sailboat print around my dog's neck. But then, Nick kissed me. And that one counted.

* * *

My birthday was on a Monday. And it was just about as manic as all the other Mondays since as far back as I could remember. Everyone in the squad gave me a quick greeting before they resumed their tasks. Fin dropped a box of new earphones on my desk. "Tell Frannie to keep her paws off these ones," he said as he pulled me into a friendly hug. Carisi brought in a box of cannolis, remembering how much I enjoyed the ones he brought last time. When Liv came in, she stopped by my desk and sorted through her purse. She pulled out a small stuffed monkey and a pacifier, before she retrieved a book. "Happy birthday, Amanda," she smiled, giving me a pat on the shoulder.

It wasn't exactly a self-help book, but it was written by one of those quixotic albeit pretentious writers, who liked to talk about strength, hope, and survival in the subtext. I can't promise I'll read through the 200 or so pages, but I'll make a place for it on my bookshelf.

And then there was Nick. He, of course, had gone above and beyond even when we agreed on a quiet night. The flowers, the sweet gesture of frilly coffee, the wine at dinner, the walk by the East River, the way he spoiled my dog, the way he looked at me before he kissed me, and everything else that happened after that kiss…

* * *

Wednesday arrived. Nick was 41 today.

He didn't stay over last night. His son had a baseball game at Queens and it ran extra innings. Then there was promise of pizza for the winning team; and of course, proud father cheered on as his son made the base hit that won the game. By the time it got dark, he was too exhausted to do anything. Nick blamed it on his age, chuckling darkly as he called himself an old man. We talked on the phone until eleven when I could hear his voice drop an octave. Moments later, his soft snores hummed through the phone.

Society tells us turning 41 isn't a big deal. He said it had been a year of crises, and not just the midlife sort; so he was a little relieved that 40 would be ending. 41 isn't a monumental age like his 40th birthday the previous year. Even though he refused initially, he couldn't say 'no' to his own mother. She had invited his cousins, even the ones all the way from Miami. It was a big Cuban celebration complete with a roasted pig and trays of his favorite _pastelitos de guayaba_.

I wasn't there. We were still a secret then… _As we are now_.

Anyway, as far as I knew, there was no influx of relatives coming up for Nick's 41st birthday. He said that while last year was fun, and it was great to catch up with family, he just wanted a quiet night this year. And I would've believed him had he not done all those things for me when I had my birthday two days ago.

I agreed with him and said I didn't want anything special. Ok, it's not so much that I didn't want to celebrate, but it was just something I was used to ever since I was a kid. It wasn't like my parents could afford to throw me a party. There was one year – I think I was six – my dad came home with a stack of cash and threw me a party with a clown and everything. But then he left within minutes of the first guests arriving because he had to run off to the races. Ever since and up until I moved out, birthdays were spent with mom, Kim, and me, watching reruns on TV and sharing a tub of ice cream.

Two days ago, I turned 35. And Nick probably had no idea, but it was the best birthday I'd ever had.

* * *

"Happy birthday, man." Fin rose from his seat to slap hands with Nick. From the coffee station, Carisi craned his neck and mirrored the greetings. "By the way, those cannolis I brought Monday… they were for you too," he said, trying to stretch the value of the gift.

Nick chuckled and furrowed his brows. "Thanks… I think."

Our eyes met. I walked towards him. "Happy birthday," I said, wrapping my arms around his torso, my palms resting just below his shoulder blades. It wasn't the kind of almost-desperate tangle of limbs we were used to off-hours. His fresh yet masculine scent drifted to my nostrils, and my impulses told me to keep him close. I felt him settle into the hug for a brief moment before he pulled away.

He smiled, that sheepish, lopsided grin I found extremely charming. His mouth parted open to say something, but his dark eyes shined as they drifted behind me. Liv stepped out of her office and I watched as Nick's grin broadened across his face. She greeted him and pulled him into a long, warm embrace. I pressed my lips together in a tight smile and retreated back towards my desk. It was more than the pat on the shoulder I got, which made sense considering Liv and Nick were partners. But…

_Forget it._

Liv passed him a box. "Go, open it," she encouraged him.

"C'mon, Liv," he shook his head, but that charming smile still plastered on his face. "You shouldn't have."

"Just open it."

"This the new Apple watch?" He teased, raising an eyebrow. He pulled the cobalt blue wrapping paper from the box.

Liv pursed her lips and shook her head. "They don't pay me that much."

"Well, they should be," Nick jested right back, pulling the last bit of paper and lifting the lid of the box. It revealed a silver knife. His eyes widened as his fingers traced the grooves and curves. I craned my neck to look at the contents of the box. The knife was weathered, but from what I could see there was no intricate design or covert button that turned it into some sort of 007 specialized weapon.

"I saw you eyeing it when we interviewed the pawn shop owner," Liv explained, beaming at her partner's positive reaction. "He told me it dates back to 1895…"

Nick picked up the knife and pointed to the small inscription. "El Partido Revulocionario Cubano," he read aloud. "It was the last war of independence Cuba fought against Spain." I took another look at the knife and saw the rust and scratches, but beneath all that was a history Nick treasured. "Wow, Liv, this is incredible," he slung his arm over her shoulder and pulled her in for a side hug.

It was the perfect gift, and Liv had been the one to give it to him. I chewed on my lip as I sank back in my seat. For weeks, I had been racking my brain trying to think of what to do or what to give Nick for his birthday. I thought the pressure was off with the 'no presents' rule; but that wasn't really a _thing_. Now nothing I could even think of could top this incredibly thoughtful gift. What was I supposed to do? Scour all the pawnshops across the city and hope to come upon a Cuban artifact?

* * *

A new case was dropped on our desks. Fin and I took off for a series of interviews, and by the time we returned to the precinct in the afternoon, Amaro and Carisi were at the DA's office. Between talking to witnesses and collecting information from the first responders, my mind kept drifting back to Nick's birthday. I had all these half-baked plans, but the day was almost over. I knew I couldn't really do anything until we both punched out. But what did it matter, when I had no plans, no reservations… not even a present.

Meanwhile, the perfect gift from the ever-thoughtful Olivia Benson was tucked in his drawer.

Liv stepped out of her office and walked towards Fin and me. "So I just got off the phone with Nick, and he said he's free tonight for dinner at my place," she announced, turning from me to Fin. "Carisi is coming, and Barba said he'll be there as long as the DA's office doesn't hold him captive for the night." Her mouth turned up into a smirk as she mimicked the ADA's inflection.

"If there's wine, you know I'm there," Fin nodded affirmatively.

I was irked, yet again, that Liv had beaten me to the punch. She got him the perfect gift. And now she was going to throw him a perfect dinner party. If I didn't know any better, I'd probably assume she was sleeping with him.

"Rollins?"

I looked up and met her expectant eyes. "I've got a meeting tonight," I shook my head. Fin cocked his head to the side and gave me a pleading look, like he was begging me not to leave him. Not that Liv's dinner parties were lousy; but let's just say they were on the opposite spectrum of dinner at the Tutuolas. "But my meeting doesn't start until eight… So I'll probably have to leave early… But yeah."

"Great," Liv smiled, turning towards her office. She stopped as she reached her door and she turned back to us. "Don't ruin your appetites. I'm making pasta tonight."

* * *

I didn't see Nick until I was packing my things, ready to head out. I needed to get home, walk and feed Frannie, before I went to Liv's for dinner. Liv had already left an hour ago, saying something about picking up fresh Parmesan for the pasta and fruits for the Sangria. Fin's eyes sparkled at the mention of Sangria being perfect for this Spring weather.

When Nick returned, he plopped himself down on his desk and started on the DD-5s. I glanced over his way and he shot me a smile.

"Hey," he called out just as I slipped into my jacket.

I walked over to his desk. "What's up?"

He tapped his pen on the pad and twisted his mouth into a small frown. "You comin' tonight?" His eyes danced over mine, studying them with concern, like he knew there was something troubling me. Nick had that wickedly good intuition about him. Most days, I hated how he could always sense when something was amiss with me. It bugged me how easily he could read the storm behind my eyes. But some days, it gave me a tiny bit of comfort to know that he was there and that he cared about me.

I just wished I knew how to show him just how much I cared about him, too.

I nodded. "Can't stay long though," I started, shoving my hands into my pockets. "Meeting." I explained. It wasn't a lie. I really did have meetings on Wednesday nights and Nick knew my schedule by heart. But I left out the part where I had intended to skip tonight's meeting on account of it being his birthday. Of course, I hadn't been able to figure out what to do instead. I ran out of time; and there was already an intimate dinner party thrown in his honor. _Yay, Liv._

He smiled, reaching the lines in the corner of his eyes. "I'll see you tonight then."

* * *

The windows were open, allowing the calm evening breeze to blow into Liv's apartment. She was deep in conversation with Barba, discussing some names that sounded important from the DA's office. Fin and Carisi were depleting Liv's wine collection like it was happy hour. John Munch, who made a bit of a surprise appearance much to Nick's astonishment, joined them as they emptied the Pinot. Meanwhile, Nick was on the living room rug, pushing Thomas the train to Noah's delight.

I set my empty glass down went over to Nick and Noah. "Choo-choo," Nick delivered complete with animated expression. Noah seemed to find it amusing because his face turned up to an even brighter smile. Nick looked up and pointed at me. "Hey, little guy, look who's come to join us."

Crouching down, I waved at him. His big, brilliant eyes widened, as I got closer. His tiny hands reached for my hair and pulled. Nick chuckled as he tore away Noah's weak grip around my blonde strands. "Aw c'mon, I know Detective Rollins has pretty hair, but we don't hurt our friends."

Noah just stared at Nick blankly before his attention shifted back to the trains.

"Hey, Nick, I'm gonna head out."

He looked up and furrowed his brows. "Is it almost eight already?"

Truthfully, I hadn't checked the time and I was most likely early. It's just, all of a sudden; I needed to get out of there. Seeing Nick with Noah reminded me of those conversations we had about his kids and how he felt like an absent father. It reminded me of the uncertainty he felt about following them to California. He considered moving, and I agreed with him. It made sense. It's what's best for his children.

Seeing him with Noah, I could see firsthand that all Nick really wanted was to be a good dad. His marriage and his job had challenged him in the last couple of years, but his role as a loving and caring father hadn't changed. But having them live across the country would certainly challenge that now. Sure, he Skyped with Zara everyday, and he had Gil on weekends; but even that last one would have to change soon. Nick expressed his concerns and said he felt like he limited himself by being physically distant from them. Seeing him with Noah… it reminded me of the decision Nick had to make… and suddenly, the decision was clear as day.

* * *

I could have walked the fourteen blocks to my meeting. The night was just the perfect temperature, and I had enough thoughts swirling in my mind to occupy me through the journey. But instead, I took the train and headed home. On the way from the subway station to my apartment, I stopped by a bodega to pick up a tub of ice cream. I didn't have a birthday party with clowns or a roasted pig; but the ice cream was my tradition. And I realized that between morning magnolias and exploring Nick's body at nightfall, I never got to sit down with a spoon and enjoy the indulgent treat.

Chunky Monkey was always a good choice. My eyes scanned the fridge and they fell upon a row of Explosivo. My lips turned up to a small smirk as I thought of Nick and his drink of choice. I picked up a case and brought it to the counter along with the ice cream. As Mr. Ramoray rung me in, I threw in a pack of Nick's favorite gum.

"Is that everything?"

I nodded, but later changed my mind when I threw in a tourist-baiting souvenir. Mr. Ramoray narrowed his eyes at the 'I heart NY' keychain. Hey, maybe if Nick did end up moving to California, he could strap it onto his car keys to remind him of New York.

"Is that everything?" Mr. Ramoray asked again in a fatigued and exasperated modulation. I whipped my head around and found no one behind me, so I had no idea why he was in such a rush. I was a paying customer, after all.

"Can you hold all this for me?" I asked, but before I could see the negative reaction I was sure I elicited, I darted through the narrow aisles and picked up my supplies. Once I had gathered all the things in the spontaneous list that sprouted in my head, I dropped them on the counter. Mr. Ramoray gave me a pointed look as I added one last item – a New York Jets magnet. Nick hated the team, but I figured he'd appreciate the wry humor.

Mr. Ramoray scanned my items and his brows knitted in confusion at the strange assortment I had picked out. He didn't ask any questions though; he just seemed to want this transaction over and done with so he could return to the back room and catch up on his Judge Judy.

* * *

The message was sent.

There was no reply, which was strange considering Nick was pretty good replying to messages and returning phone calls. Except for last summer. But we'd already worked that one out and he apologized nonstop for days. The police uniform certainly worked in his favor.

I assumed the party had distracted him; maybe he was still on the floor with Noah, playing with trains and furtively squeezing the little guy's cheeks when Liv wasn't looking. But at quarter past eleven, Nick buzzed from the lobby.

I set the flame to the wicks of a diverse collection of candles. The scents intermingled in a way that wasn't most pleasant, but it had to work for the sake of ambience. After lighting the last candle, I heard the rap on my door. Frannie's head perked up from her comfortable position on the couch, but she rested back down when I held my palm up to stop her. She was a smart dog and she knew better than to knock down the fire hazard on my living room floor.

Cracking the door open, my eyes fell upon him and my breath hitched in my throat. He had that sheepish, lopsided grin I found so charming. His eyes were void of that worry I saw back in the party and the squad room; instead, it was replaced by a sense of calm. He was relieved that I had texted him. He was relieved that he was finally getting that quiet night he wished for his 41st birthday. His dark eyes flickered to the scene behind me, his brows creasing.

I let him through and quietly observed as his eyes roamed throughout the apartment, where candles decorated the floor and a haphazardly arranged gift basket sat at the center of the coffee table. I took his hand in mine and led him towards it. "I know you said no gifts…" I trailed off. "But you didn't exactly follow the rules when it was my birthday."

His eyes danced over the array of bodega-supplied goods. Confusion turned to amusement as he picked up a Bill de Blasio bobble head. "Really?"

Shrugging my shoulders, I sat on the couch and watched him sift through his gift basket, that wasn't even in a basket, more like stuffed last-minute into a Bloomingdale's big brown bag. After the bobble head of our current mayor, Nick started with the perishables: a case of Explosivo, his favorite winter mint gum, a red cup of Campbell's chicken noodle soup (from that time I was sick and he insisted on playing doctor), a box of dog treats cleverly disguised to look like cookies (from that hungover morning when he rummaged through my scant pantry in search of a snack), and a bag of Doritos Roulette.

Nick loved spicy food and he loved the novel idea of a few stray hot chips in a bag of mostly nacho cheese. But then he remembered I was standing beside him in that grocery aisle; then he hesitated. When I asked him what was wrong, he nervously brought up my gambling problem. I remembered laughing, bowled over in tears, because Nick thought junk food could trigger my relapse. He didn't think it was funny at the time; he actually thought it was rather mean of me to mock his concern. He had that semi-permanent worry etched in the corners of his eyes and the faint wrinkles on his forehead. Looking back at it now, he was just playing it safe and I thought it was actually kind of sweet and adorable.

The non-perishable goods in the bag were picked out. There was the bobble head and the New York Jets magnet, which earned an acerbic laugh out of him. Then he picked up a t-shirt from the pile. It was his ratty but exceptionally soft NYPD shirt from his police academy days. He had lent it to me one night, and it was just so comfortable that I never gave it back. Until now.

He'd been searching for it for months, digging through his closet and dresser. It was one of his favorite shirts for the house, for the gym, for bed on a night when it was too cold to sleep without a shirt on. Realization hit him and his eyes flitted from shock to anger to wry amusement. "You can keep it," he handed it back to me. "It looks a lot better on you."

Nick toyed with the ring of the 'I heart NY' keychain. His mouth pouted slightly. "Why all the souvenirs?"

I lowered my head, sensing the end of our silly laughter over the silly gifts. "I figured since you're probably moving to LA soon, it'd be nice to have these souvenirs to remember New York."

"I've lived here all my life," Nick chuckled, tossing the keychain into the paper bag. "Don't think I can forget this place even if I tried."

"I know…" I sighed, chewing my lip as I tried to muster up the courage to tell him the real reason why I bought those cheap but fairly expressive gifts. "I guess I wasn't really talking about the city. I was talking about… me."

"You think I'd forget you?" He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

I took the bag off the table, stood up, and walked past him. "Forget it," I muttered. "This was a stupid. You gave me flowers… and dinner… and this… this was a stupid idea—"

"Amanda."

He grasped my arm and pulled me towards him. He took the bag and set it back down on the table. "This isn't stupid," he lowered his head and tried to meet my flighty gaze. His hand cupped my chin and he looked down at me with so much tenderness and sincerity. "This is perfect."

"What?"

"You went through all this trouble for me?" He asked, sweeping his hand across the room, even noting the candles. And I knew he was biting his tongue from giving me a lecture about fire safety; but right now, he knew that wasn't as important.

I shrugged. "It was kind of last minute, to be honest," I admitted, crossing my arms over my chest. "I wanted to do what you did for me the other night… the surprises… the dinner… _that_ was perfect," I emphasized. "And after what Liv got you, and that dinner party… Nick, I know I'm not your girlfriend or whatever," I cringed, the word feeling foreign against my lips. Still, it was strange and unfamiliar but not necessarily unwelcome. "But I guess I wanted to do something special for you, too. But I was so caught up overthinking it that I ran out of time."

His hands rubbed up against my forearms, coaxing them out of the tight hold I kept myself in. He took my hands in his and I followed the invitation and laced my fingers through his.

"Nick, I've never done this before," I confessed. "I've never done anything like this for a guy, so I'm sorry –"

"Amanda, all I wanted was a quiet night, to be able to spend it with you," he said softly. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate all the effort Liv put into my birthday. But that's Liv and you know she's always been like that." He let go of my hands and moved them up to tuck a few loose strands behind my ears. I silently cursed myself for forgetting to pull the scrunchie out of my hair before he walked in. But Nick didn't seem to mind. "When you left the party, I missed you," he continued. "All I wanted to do was be with you, just kick back on your couch and watch movies… I dunno, maybe get lucky."

He laughed and it was the kind of infectious laughter that had me joining him, leaning against him, wanting him to hold me. Nick sensed the need and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"I just wanted this," he whispered to the top of my head, to that pink scrunchie I've had since the original 90210 was still on TV. "I just wanted to be with you."

"You're not just saying that?" I murmured into his chest.

He looked down at me and pressed his lips onto mine. It was fleeting, just our bodies making contact to provide that reassurance. "I'm sayin' that you right here with me is how I've always wanted to spend this day." Nick dipped his head down and kissed me again. This time it was more than just contact. His lips lingered over mine, tempting them to part. His tongue lured mine to entwine with his. Nick tasted like winter mint gum and a familiar Pinot Noir. He cradled my head in his hands but pulled just far enough to whisper something to my lips. "And for the record, I don't need a keychain to remember you, Amanda."

I kissed him with full force, knocking him back a step. His hands tangled up in my hair as my fingers ran down his chest, untucking his shirt and undoing the buttons. "'Sides, I haven't made a decision," he exhaled as my tongue spiraled around the base of his throat. "Yet," he finished, groaning as my teeth grazed his collarbone.

Nick lifted me up by my hips and pressed me up against a flat surface. It could've been the wall or it could've been the floor; I wasn't really sure. I wrapped my legs around his waist and reached for his mouth, needing to satisfy that desire to make out like we were teenagers sneaking out of class to mess around behind the bleachers. For a second, he wasn't 41 and I wasn't 35.

He pulled away just as I was about to show him just how much I cared (in the best, maybe only, way I knew how). Dark, soulful eyes remained steady on mine. "It's not an easy decision," he said, biting his bottom lip, which didn't help when he was pressed up against me and my legs wrapped around him. "But I'm findin' I've got a pretty good reason to stay."

A crimson blush stained his cheeks and there, again, I saw that sheepish, lopsided grin. I knew what he implied, especially when he said it with that look in his eyes. It wasn't just lust or desire; but there was something else, but I wouldn't venture out to discover what it really meant. Not now. Maybe not ever.

I could have protested. I could have broached the subject of his son and daughter. I could have reminded him of those doubts he had about being a good father and being physically available for his children. I could have popped his bubble and told him that he loved them; he didn't love me. Hell, I could have even showed him the selfish elation I was feeling deep beneath the center of my chest, because of the possibility that he wasn't really leaving. That, maybe, the possibility that I was reason enough to stay was, both, the nicest and scariest thing he's ever said to me.

Instead, I showed him nothing but what I knew. I kissed him, closing my eyes and chasing off the thoughts, fears, and the overwhelming sense of guilt that if Nick stayed in New York it would be on me. It would be my fault. My tongue curled against his and I tugged at his hair, maybe a little too hard; but then his kiss got deeper and he pushed me harder against the wall.

I could have stopped it. But I didn't. Not when Nick just told me he wanted this. He wanted a quiet night, away from wrestling those thoughts and nursing that nagging indecision with a bottle of scotch. For his birthday, Nick just wanted a distraction. Nick just wanted a good reason to _stay in_. I could give him that.

No problem.

But if he wanted a good reason to _stay_, well, I didn't think I could give him that.

* * *

On the eve of my 36th birthday, I spent it alone. In bed. Nick's old NYPD t-shirt slipping from my bare shoulder.


	7. NYPD Blues

_**AN**: So I had myself convinced I couldn't write Rollaro fics because it was too sad to think about the possibility of an Amaro-less SVU. But I realized over the last 24 hours that part of the reason I'm so bummed out is because I haven't been writing. So, I decided to suck it up and I actually found myself enjoying this fun one-shot. It's a combination of two anon requests I got on tumblr: **Nick being a stripper dressed in a police uniform, and Rollaro smut that involves Nick being in uniform**. I looove this idea. But keep note, I don't attempt smut that often because whenever I read it back, it makes me cringe in embarrassment (maybe that's the point?) But anyway, I hope you enjoy this and I hope it distracts you and brings some joy back into your Rollaro-shipping hearts. _

_Also, Amaro in uniform. You're welcome._

_I changed the url of my blog. You can send requests or just chat with me over at detectiveguapo on tumblr. You can also follow me on twitter. My username is snarkmcsnark. _

* * *

**NYPD Blues**

* * *

"Missing 13 year-old girl from Lenox Hill."

"Her name is Taylor Norton – daughter of the CEO of NorCorp, one of the biggest pharmaceutical conglomerates in the country." Sergeant Olivia Benson tacks a picture of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl onto the bulletin board.

There's a team of rookie police officers standing around the table. Dressed in their navy blue shirts and peaked caps, the officers are also uniform in their stern expressions. Most of them are fresh-faced, recently graduated cadets, who can barely grow a decent Tom Selleck mustache. There are a few who look older than me. They seem a little resentful that I'm sitting here – a female detective – in one of the most elite squads of the NYPD. A surge of pride rushes through me and I can't help but smirk when one of these green-eyed officers scowls in my direction.

"Parents are divorced," Fin adds. I cross my arms over my chest and focus on the case at hand. "Mom's convinced she was kidnapped 'cause the New York offices are downsizing. Blames this all on the husband."

"And Mr. Norton's deflecting, saying the mom has custody so she should be looking out for the kid." Carisi cocks his head to the side and purses his lips. "Either way, they haven't seen or heard from her since she was dropped off at private school this morning."

"It's been twelve hours since she was last seen. Teachers said she never arrived to class," Benson explains. "We traced her phone to Bethesda Terrace in Central Park but she wasn't there. We'll need your help canvassing the park. Keep an eye out for this girl."

I lean back against my chair and tilt my head towards Fin. "13 year-old doesn't make it home for supper and we put out an Amber Alert?"

Fin just shrugs his shoulders. "Rich, white girl from the Upper East Side; you expect anything different?"

Carisi leans in to join the conversation. "Norton's ex-wife is supposedly screwing the police commissioner… she's got strings and she's pullin' them."

Benson clears her throat and we all look up to face our commanding officer.

"You know the areas you've been assigned. Be vigilant." she speaks to the eager officers. Their faces are serious but their eyes are bright and full of hope. I remember that feeling; I remember hoping to catch that first big break. Find and rescue the missing kid, get invited to dinner with the police commissioner, earn my detective badge by 30. _Ah, the naïveté. _

_But I had done it, hadn't I?_

My eyes scan over the crowd of officers. I retrace my line of vision when my eyes catch a clenched and chiseled jawline. Scruff covers his cheeks down to his neck. The sleeves of his navy blue shirt are taut around his biceps; thick forearms show a sprinkling of hair and a course of dilated veins. The pair of hands in his pockets frame around a similarly sizable bulge front and center of his pants.

_The sizing on that uniform is definitely not standard._

I don't even realize I'm biting my lip until I feel the warmth spread over my cheeks. The tight police uniform wraps around his body like a glove, and it's giving me these perverse fantasies of male strippers in classic NYPD blues.

My eyes rake up his long, lean body to meet a pair of smoldering brown eyes. Thick, arched brows frame deep-set eyes that are staring right back at me. I swallow hard and turn away quickly. Carisi is giving me a strange look and I feel Fin's foot kick the bottom of my chair.

Tucking a stray tendril of hair behind my ear, I chance a look over my shoulder to see the hot officer still eyeballing me. He shifts his gaze and looks away shyly. A blush creeps across his tanned cheeks and a sheepish smile plasters itself on his face. Whoever he is, he's a sight for sore eyes. He's handsome with classically boyish good looks, but with just enough of that rugged, dangerous air about him – the kind that would make you wonder if he likes to use his handcuffs in the bedroom.

"Fin and I are going to Bethesda Terrace." Benson points to Fin and receives an affirmative nod back. "Carisi, you go talk to Taylor's friends and see if they know anything about her whereabouts."

"And what about me?" I ask.

Benson gives me a pointed look. "Rollins, hold down the fort," she says. "Looks like answering the tip line is all you can focus on at the moment."

_Ouch._

But Benson's right. I barely listened to the last half of her orders. Thanks a lot, hot uniformed officer, who's disappeared from the crowd. I skim over the group of peaked hats but he's gone like some sort of mirage.

As soon as the unis and the other detectives leave, I'm planted on my desk answering calls. None of them are pertinent to the case so I almost feel like an overpaid and overworked telephone operator. The squad room quiets down and I take the brief reprieve to open my drawer and pull out a bottle of ibuprofen. I pop the pill into my mouth and swallow it down with stale, room temperature coffee.

The phone rings.

"Manhattan SVU."

"My neighbor is playing his devil worship music so loud my cats are flipping out –"

I pull the phone away from my ear and narrow my eyes at the receiver. "Ma'am, this is Manhattan Special Victims. If you're calling on a noise complaint, I'm going to transfer you."

I set the phone down. My fingers coil around the handle of my mug and I bring it up to my lips. I grimace when I remember that only swill comes out of the office coffee pot, and it tastes infinitely worse when it's hours old. Walking towards the coffee station to start a fresh pot with my secret stash of Colombian blend, I have a strange sense someone's watching me.

Jerking my head around, all I see are the same people concentrating on whatever assignment is keeping them busy. I turn back to the coffee station and see something whip back into the corner of the hallway. I set my mug down on the counter and turn towards the hall leading to the cribs. As soon as I turn the corner, I collide into something hard. Something that smells warm and spicy. Something that's wrapping its arms around me to keep me from hitting the ground.

"Shit," he says apologetically. "I'm so sorry."

Rubbing my forehead, I look up to see the distractingly hot police officer from earlier. He pulls his arms away from my waist and plants them firmly on his sides.

"What are you still doing here?" I ask. "You're supposed to be out there searching for Taylor."

He presses a finger to his lips, looks past my shoulder, and ushers me into an empty room. The door closes behind him and I hear a click. The heat of his hands permeates through the silk sleeves of my blouse. Fight or flight switches on in my brain and I struggle under his grip. He holds me to keep me still but I sense that he's not fighting back. My elbow nudges him on the chest and his badge falls on the concrete. It falls with a pathetic thump on the ground.

I pick up the silver badge. It feels weightless in the palm of my hand. Its surface is scratched with silver and black paint. The inscription says 'Made in China'.

"You're not a cop." My eyes dart up and I see the look of guilt etched in his features.

"I… I'm not…" He's flustered. He rakes his fingers through his hair and for a moment I'm distracted again. "I was gonna leave, but then you saw me… Shit… My boss is gonna kill me."

"Your boss?"

"Yeah, my madame," he responds nervously. He tucks his chin down and hesitantly lifts his eyes to meet mine.

The puzzle pieces start to combine and the picture isn't looking pretty – or it is; depends on who you're asking, really. That lost look he had when Benson was talking, the tight police uniforms, the striking good looks. I mean, there are attractive men on the force. But no one looks like _that_.

"You're not a cop," I repeat. I mostly say it to myself but he hears me and he casts me a confused look.

He shakes his head. "I'm a stripper… an escort if a client really likes me… sometimes I do bachelorette parties," he says as he paces the room. "I was just on the way to a job. Knock on a client's door, accuse them of causing a noise disturbance, arrest them, and then give 'em a lap dance."

I swallow hard as I'm picturing the images he just uploaded into the servers of my brain.

"I was just walking down the street when this squad car comes. They called me Morales or something… must've thought I was some other guy. They said we needed to come down here. I just froze and they dragged me into the car." He turns to look at me and his eyes have that scared, deer-in-the-headlights look to them. "I don't do too good with the police… I've done things."

"What things?" My voice comes out a little huskier than I would have liked.

He lowers his head. "Remember a year ago when the mayor's wife died from a mysterious heart attack?"

I nod my head.

"That was me," he exhales as if he's been holding onto that secret all this time. "She begged me to fuck her fast and hard. I had no idea she was going to croak and die!"

"That was you?"

He holds his palms across his face and mutters something under his breath. It sounds like 'Dios mio' repeated over and over. "Yeah, that was me. And that's why I've been runnin' from the police. Because they… no, _you_ think I killed her. I didn't!"

"Hold on, hold on," I say, lifting my hands up to stop him from freaking out. "That was your DNA all over the scene? We ran you on CODIS and got no hits."

He tenses up. He holds his hands behind his body like he's scared to leave any fingerprints in this precinct. "I'm not sayin' another word."

"No," I say, shaking my head. "You don't have to. The unit saw the scene and we found there was no evidence of rape, and the coroner confirmed her death as a heart attack. We know it wasn't you," I assure him. "But now I know you're the mystery guy who was fucking the mayor's wife…"

His shoulders drop and he takes a step towards me. "You mean, I'm not in trouble with the cops?"

I bite my lip. "Still doesn't get you off for impersonating a police officer."

"I told you," he cries desperately. "I was on the way to a job. It wasn't my fault some cop thought I was someone else."

I narrow my eyes and drum my fingers against my chin. "Maybe we can work out a deal," I propose. His eyes light up, sensing he's finally found an escape. "I won't tell anyone about this if you show me what this job of yours entails. Hell, I'll even pay you for it."

"You?" His eyebrows knit in confusion, but then a mischievous glint shimmers in his eyes. He smiles slyly. "You can't afford me."

I scoff at his arrogance. "What's your going rate?"

"$1,000 an hour."

My eyes bulge out of my skull.

"But for you, I can give a beginner's discount."

"Beginner?"

He cocks his head to the side and gives me the once-over. Stepping towards me, he licks his lips and trails his finger down the side of my arm. My breath hitches in my throat as he presses his thumb against my pulse. I wish I could make my heart stop beating so fast so he'd have no clue the kind of effect he's had on me since that shared moment in the squad room. He takes another step forward and his scent overloads my senses. I lean back when his head dips down. I feel cool metal against my palms and the edge of the table dig into my backside.

His lips are mere inches from my ear. His strong legs press up against mine and I'm cornered against the interrogation table. A hot breath tickles the junction between my ear and the side of my neck. My lids flutter shut as he leans in dangerous proximity.

"Show me you're not a beginner and I'll give it to you free of charge."

My knees buckle but his arms catch me just in time. He pushes me against the table; its sharp edge digging into my ass. "Come on," he says huskily into my ear. His tongue darts out to trace my earlobe. "I doubt the NYPD pays you enough to be able to afford my services." His fingers splay against the small of my back as his lips pepper faint kisses along my jaw. He stops at the corner of my mouth and retreats slightly. "Show me what you got, Rollins."

I crash my lips onto his and for a second I know it startles him. I grin into the kiss but he pulls me down from my cloud of gloating when he shoves his tongue in my mouth. The kiss is needy and desperate. His hands are all over my body and my hands finally get to feel and tug the soft waves on his head. He forces me down on the desk. My feet lift off the ground as his taut body molds into mine. Our kiss accelerates as need and desperation become too insufficient to describe the growing lust between us.

His fingertips dig into my exposed skin, coursing up my torso underneath my blouse. He slips his palm under the band of my bra and squeezes. I gasp just as he pulls away from our kiss. He watches my reaction as he slips his hand further up to tease the hardened peak of my left breast. I writhe on the table. A satisfied smirk graces his lips. I'm sickened by his brashness so I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him down for another searing kiss. His scruff scratches against my face, but I don't really care; not when those soft lips are simultaneously soothing and setting fire to my whole body.

He presses his groin into mine and that's when I can feel the hardened length bearing down between us. My desire for him grows stronger and I tighten my legs around him. "Clothes. Off." My voice is breathless and raspy.

"Usually, I do a little dance first," he replies cheekily.

I grab the back of his neck with my hand and dig my fingernails into his skin. "Do I look like I'm interested in a fucking dance?"

He purses his lips and suppresses the cocky grin that's just begging to be set free. I pull myself up on my elbows and narrow my eyes. Before I can tell him to start moving, he rips my blouse off my torso. Buttons roll off the desk and fall to the floor. Torn white silk flies across the room. He arches his brow.

My chest heaves as he quickly works on the buttons of the short-sleeved police uniform. Now that I'm seeing it up close, I can't believe no one had seen the embroidered name on the left breast pocket. 'Officer Guapo'

I roll my eyes at the silly nickname. He covers the name and smiles sheepishly. "It wasn't my idea…"

"Sure," I reply skeptically as I tug into the leather belt of his pants. He captures my wrists with his right hand before he starts finishing the rest of the buttons of his shirt. I lick my lips as I see the broad planes of his chest and the cut muscles of his abdomen. Releasing hold of my wrists, he shrugs the shirt off.

"Like what you see, Rollins?" He says my name again and insists on rolling the 'R', which makes my name sound like some sexy, forbidden Spanish obscenity.

I push myself off the table and sink my teeth on his collarbone. He hisses at the contact, but I relieve the area by swirling my tongue against the marked skin. Officer Guapo's fingers trail up my back, releasing my breasts from its white lace confines. He palms them, squeezes them, and pinches them as I kiss the sheen of sweat and scented body oil across his chest. The need grows even stronger and our hands fumble to remove each other's pants. We're kissing and blindly trying to remove the last remnants of each other's clothing.

The belt buckle hits the floor. The sight of black pants gives way to my cream-colored stems and Officer Guapo takes them in with great admiration. He kisses from my ankles, to the back of my knee, to my inner thighs, until… _Oh god._

My lace panties hit the ground and before I can feign modesty or compose a coherent thought, Officer Guapo's lips are around me. His tongue is probing inside me. His hands reach up to fondle the swells on my chest. I'm gripping the edge of the table, trying not to scream. I know I'm in an interrogation room in the 16th precinct. There are professionals outside… co-workers I have to face… I can't… I can't scream.

Instead, I release a guttural moan as his fingers drive up inside me. His skilled tongue circles around the most sensitive nerve endings of my body. My body convulses and I bite down on my lip, but my throat betrays me as I release an almost animalistic wail. He laps up my juices like he's gone days without a meal. And as if it weren't erotic enough, he pulls out his two fingers and slips them into his mouth, licking and sucking on every last drop of my orgasm.

"Turn around."

I stare back at him with lidded eyes. He lifts my limp body off the table and flips me over to bend me over the surface. He cups my ass with one hand and I can hear fabric pool on the floor. Something long, thick, and hard prods between my cheeks and I bite hard into my lip. I can almost taste the iron. My knuckles are white from clenching my fists.

"Fuck me."

"Say that again?"

"I said," I hiss, turning my head to the side so I can see his face. He is covered in a glistening sheen of sweat. His face is red and his eyes are dark and dilated in lust. I inhale sharply before I release a strangled breath. "Fuck me, Officer Guapo."

My cheek hits the cool surface of the table and we both jerk forward at the sheer force of him entering me. My body is in a state of shock. But the pain subsides and gives way to an indescribable pleasure that rocks every nerve and fiber of my being. He grips my waist to hold me steady as he continues to work on me in long, delicious strokes, savoring every single glorious moment. But as much as this feels good, I can picture his cocky smirk. I can hear his voice taunting me and questioning my abilities in the bedroom… or the interrogation room, for that matter.

"Fuck me, Officer Guapo," I seethe, pushing myself back against him. "Fuck me harder."

He stops his motions and stares back with eyes wide in shock. His mouth is gaping as sweat trickles down his forehead. I begin to push myself off the table to take matters into my own hands, when he tugs on my hair. He coils my blonde locks around his fist and bends me up so I can see our reflection on the mirror.

Officer Guapo pounds me from behind in rapid thrusts. His grunts are matched by my moans and our sounds are joined by the smack of flesh against flesh. I try my best to keep my eyes open and to focus on our erotic reflection. His eyes lock on mine before they close. The corners of his eyes crease and I can tell he's just as close as I am. I pull my body up and take his hand and guide it to my front. His strokes send a course of lightning all over my body but once he touches me there my body is in flames. I try to bite down a scream but it's too much. He crashes his lips onto mine and he muffles my climax. My walls constrict around him in waves and my legs give in. He holds me up with his arm as he jerks inside me, filling me up completely.

Our lips break apart but our foreheads rest against each other. We're trying to catch our breath. As he slips out of me, his lashes flutter and dark eyes meet mine. But instead of that satisfied look, they widen in fear. I turn around to see that the switch on the one-way mirror had been flipped. Instead of our reflection, I'm looking back at a window into Sergeant Benson's office.

And Benson's not alone. Not only do Fin and Carisi join her, but Munch and Cragen are there, too. They stare back with eyes wide open and jaws dropped to the floor. I blink and I realize it's not just the squad. Barba's standing there with his hand over his mouth. Tucker is at the far corner shaking his head. And someone is standing behind Benson with his hand on her shoulder. He's tall and bald. He looks familiar, but I can't quite place him. I must have seen him in a picture on Benson's desk… wait, what?

That's Elliot Stabler.

_What the fuck?_

I jerk up and pant for air. My eyes dilate and take in the dark surroundings. My skin is hot to the touch but my insides feel like I've woken up in a cold sweat. I run my hands over my torso and realize I'm wearing an old APD t-shirt and my duvet is tangled around my legs.

_Shit._

_Holy shit._

_It was just a dream._

"Nightmare?"

My head whips around to the source of the voice. A breath is lodged in my throat as I realize it's Officer Gua—_I mean_, Nick. I swallow hard before I shake my head. "Yup. Just a nightmare."

My head sinks back down on the pillow as I stare up at the ceiling.

Nick props his head up on his hand and looks down at me. "You sure? Because I couldn't tell if it was a good dream or a bad dream –"

"It was bad," I interrupt him. "But now it's over. So let's, um, go back to bed."

"Do you remember what it was about?" He chews on his lip and studies my face.

I shake my head and turn over to my side so I don't have to face him and he won't see how hot and flustered I am over that embarrassingly wet dream.

"Hmmm…" His fingers trace circles around my shoulder blades. He dips his head down and brings his mouth close to my ear. "You sure you don't remember?"

"I forgot," I bite back. I curl myself against my pillow and close my eyes. "You know I have trouble remembering my dreams."

Nick chuckles softly into my ear.

"Maybe the words 'Officer Guapo' can help you remember."


	8. The Family You Choose

_**AN:** So, how about that finale? I've wrote about my feelings about Amaro's exit and Danny Pino leaving the show over at my tumblr and on twitter. I won't be talking about it here because, honestly, I'm tired of talking about it and it bums me out and I'm not the kind of person who likes to dwell on the negative. I'd rather focus on the limitless possibilities of what my imagination can do for Amaro (and Rollaro). Looking forward to season 17, but also looking forward to what Danny's doing next. Looks like he might be working with the Executive Producer of Sons of Anarchy on a new project. You have no idea how much this excites me because I've always wanted to see Danny's acting chops displayed on non-network originals. It's too soon to tell anything for sure, but I have faith that Danny will be fine. So, let's just chill and enjoy Rollaro (or attempt to enjoy it, because with these two... there's always going to be some angst)_

_This was an anon request from tumblr where **Amanda meets the madre for the first time. Cesaria Amaro is an overprotective mother and she's skeptical of her son's "new" girlfriend.** When I got this request (ages ago) I thought of something light and fluffy, but since I'm still reeling from the finale and #TheFeels are still heavy on my heart, I took this on another route. Anyway, before we dive in, try to remember that scene in the squad room when Nick suggested Amanda take the sergeant's exam. I think most people missed the significance of that suggestion and focused instead on what Amanda said after, which, fair enough, sounded kind of out of character. But I think a writer (on twitter) might've mentioned that it's in Rollins' personality to suppress the pain and pretend things are fine (I can see that). Anyway... back to the story._

_Oh, and in this story, Amanda already knew about Nick's plan to move before he told Liv. In my headcanon, he only said that he hadn't told anyone because he was trying to save his ass. _

* * *

**The Family You Choose**

* * *

It's a Friday evening and the two of you are on his couch. Your current posture would make your grandmother's spine shudder. But frankly, you're just too weary to reminisce about your childhood when you and Kim had to balance phone books on your head. On your lap, Nick rests his own weary head. You're twirling his hair around your finger; it's been a while since his last haircut so the dark waves are starting to curl at the ends. You wonder if he's planning on growing his hair out and skipping the razor tomorrow now that the suits and ties are stowed away at the back of his closet. In two months, the suits and ties will be in a suitcase getting the TSA treatment between JFK and LAX.

The TV is playing a rerun of a procedural drama you used to follow back when you were living in Atlanta. It's a show that's carved a place in your heart because you often daydreamed of busting perps with the same poise and _badassery_ as the female protagonist. Strong, feminist role models – that was your gratuitious justification. But beneath all those campy cases and intense interrogations, there's an undercurrent of a soap-opera quality relationship between the two leads. It's a classic will-they or won't-they story that brings out your deeply stashed and thickly veiled hopeless romanticism. Your conscience tells you that mixing business with pleasure is a recipe for disaster, but you still root for them anyway because their chemistry goes beyond reason and morals. It's harmless, you try to convince yourself; it's only television.

Nick has a totally different opinion on the matter. But it _is_ Nick, so this revelation doesn't surprise you one bit. There's an acknowledgment of the palpable sexual tension between the two actors; but Nick just can't see this partnership working out.

"Dude's married with nineteen children." He's off by twelve kids, but you get the idea. "Besides, she just needs to get out more… she thinks her partner is the only man out there who'll ever have her back and that's why she's settling for him."

He doesn't end his rant there. The scene shifts to show the male lead getting a pat on the shoulder from their commanding officer. Nick makes a snarky quip about how 'dude' always gets away with violence and coercion, but the brass is never up his ass about it.

You bite your tongue because you know Nick is speaking from a place of experience. You could make a comment on how it's only television. But it could turn out to be one of those seemingly harmless discussions that snowballs into a more catastrophic argument. And you don't want to say or do anything to mess this up, especially not when time is already so limited. Anything you say in response to that quip, even if your intention is to reassure him, won't help because the wounds – both physical and emotional – are still too raw.

The brave face he put on at Noah's adoption party had lifted as soon as you both got back to his place. Initially, you weren't sure if he was so exhausted because of his knee, or if it was because he was trying to convince everyone at the party that it was his choice to move 3,000 miles away and start fresh in California. Most likely, it was a combination of both. But at Liv's apartment, you were all laughs and smiles. Fin even made a joke about following Nick's lead, retiring, and moving to the West Coast. Liv shot your partner a look of horror; afraid she'd lose two of her best detectives in one afternoon. You all laughed, sipped your champagne, cooed over Noah's cheeks, and wished Amaro the best of luck on his new and _improved_ life.

Nick played the role to perfection as he spoke animatedly about having all this free time to spend with Gil and Zara. You believed him about being happy to be closer to his kids, but you didn't buy that bullshit about free time. You've known Nick for four years, and while you haven't always seen eye-to-eye, you're both the type of people who don't thrive in idleness. What he plans on doing while he's in California is a subject neither one of you have broached. You know he's constantly grappling with the situation and trying to figure out his next move, but you're scared by his silence; because you know it means he's at a dead end.

So, when the mask came off and the beer washed down the champagne, you allowed Nick to sulk; because you know how draining it can be to pretend that everything's okay.

In the last month, you've stuck around. From the terrifying ambulance ride, where you prayed to a deity you weren't sure you believed in; to the late night visits at the hospital when you _still_ prayed that, by some miracle, he would fully recover. He recovered, all right, but whether he would ever get the full function of his knee back remains to be seen. Since he was released, you've tried to be there for him as much as possible. Nick never asked you to stay, but he never asked you to leave either.

Some days were challenging. He could get himself into a real mood after a frustrating PT session, and he'd make it considerably worse for everybody involved when he refused to take the pain meds. _There goes macho Nick trying to outjockey what two bullets had done to his body._ But then there were other times – times like tonight – when the two of you could just sit back and quietly enjoy this time you had left.

He has this close-mouthed smile that never fails to bring out his dimples. He casts one your way, when he wants to thank you for helping him get around the house, for helping him put his pants on before the party, for helping him remember that he's not as weak as his injuries make him feel. You've made it a point to tell him to stop saying 'thank you' all the damn time; so, instead, he flashes that dimpled smile in place of those words.

It wasn't always clear to you, but Nick is probably the nicest guy you've met since moving to New York. In the past, you often mistook his concern for pity or jealousy; but over time you realized that you just weren't used to someone having your back like that. You just weren't used to guys treating you with respect and a genuine concern for your wellbeing. So, in spite of the mood swings and the knowledge of his inevitable one-way flight to Los Angeles, you don't leave him. You don't catalyze the process to save yourself from the pain; besides, it's too late for that. And a part of the reason why you grin and bear it is because you don't know if any guy is ever going to hold a candle to Nick Amaro.

You have to make the most out of what you've got now, before the Nates, Sams, and Charlies come strolling back into this secure nest you've built in the last year.

Nick applies pressure on your hand to dig deeper into his scalp. He groans as the male protagonist shoves a suspect against a brick wall and lifts him up by the collar. "Just watch," he scoffs. "Next episode, they're going to promote this asshat to sergeant."

The sound of the TV drowns out most of the other noise but, you swear, you hear the sound of jangling keys and the clicking of metal. Before you can retrieve your fingers from weaving into Nick's hair and before he can lift his head from your lap, the front door opens. It's his mother.

"Nicky?"

"Ma." He rises too fast and winces as he presses his palm to his abdomen. His mom is immediately by his side, reaching for him. Nick waves his hand to assure her that he's fine. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought you dinner," she says in a no-nonsense tone. "You haven't had a good meal in days… what did Olivia serve in that party of hers? Those pequeños aperitivos?" She shakes her head and sets down a stack of Tupperware on top of the coffee table.

"Ma," Nick looks from his mom to you and scratches the back of his head. "Ma, this is Detective Amanda Rollins." He extends his arm out between the two of you. "And, uh, my mom, Cesaria."

You get up from the couch and stretch out to shake her hand; she takes it with hesitation. "You worked with my son? How come I never met you?"

"She wasn't here for Papi's trial."

Cesaria nods her head but studies you carefully as you shift awkwardly. You're not sure if you should sit back down, remain standing, or just get the hell out of there. Before you can weigh all your options, your natural impulse of flight wins out. "It was really lovely meeting you, Cesaria. But I should get going."

"You could stay for dinner."

Your head whips around and you glare at Nick like he's just lost his marbles, and you realize his own mother is giving him the exact same look. He shrugs his shoulders and points to the Tupperware. "My mom's made enough to feed the whole barrio. And you probably haven't eaten since this morning…" he trails off and reads your reaction. You tilt your head to the side and nervously scratch your wrist, silently chastising yourself for giving up that information so easily. "Stay. Please."

Dinner is awkward. Cesaria maintains a tight-lipped smile in your presence, but she only talks to Nick in Spanish. In a clipped tone and with one-word answers, he replies in English to make sure you're not left out of this conversation that is so obviously about you. The only saving grace of this situation is the home-cooked meal that is hearty and delicious – and she's right, better than the finger foods you had at Liv's apartment. Admittedly, this isn't the first time you've sampled Cesaria's dishes because you've been raiding her son's fridge for leftovers since last spring. Nonetheless, you pretend it's your first time sampling Cuban black beans and compliment her cooking solely to be polite.

Cesaria forces a smile then turns to her son and speaks in rapid-fire Spanish. You never really paid attention to Spanish class in high school, but your ears perk up on the word 'novia'.

Nick sets his utensils down and smacks his tongue against his teeth. He draws the napkin to his lips and wipes the corners of his mouth. "Sorry, Rollins," he calls you by your last name, which is a habit you two have mastered when you're in the company of other people. "I just need a word with my mom. Excuse us." He gets up from the table and leads his mom by the elbow down the hallway.

That impulse to flee takes over again and you wonder if they'd even care if they returned to the dinner table and found you had gone missing. You know Cesaria surely wouldn't mind. But you can imagine Nick giving you the cold shoulder for a couple of days for bailing out on this spur-of-the-moment dinner. For a year, you two had gone to great lengths to keep this relationship under wraps that neither one of you breathed a word of it to anybody. Now that he was retiring, maybe Nick was over sneaking around. Maybe, Nick was just over _it_.

"Que pasa con su esposa?"

"Let it go, Ma!" Nick's voice cries out exasperatedly. "I've told you… I'm not moving to LA to get back with Maria. I'm not havin' this conversation again."

You consider stepping outside to give them both some privacy, but at the mention of his ex-wife, you can't help but have your naturalistic detective tendencies firing on all cylinders. So, you stay where you are and you keep your ears open for any sound coming from the hallway.

"You can make it work this time, hijo. You'll be closer to her and Zara… You won't have this job holding you back."

"It doesn't matter," he replies. A long pause occurs before you hear him speak again. "I don't love her anymore."

"Love?" Cesaria asks incredulously. "That fades away, but you made a vow to work on your marriage. You have to make sacrifices for your family. Even when you think you don't love your wife –"

"Ma, I'm not moving to California to get back with Maria. I'm doing it for my kids. So, can we just drop this and go back to the table… And could you please show some respect for Amanda?"

"Is she your novia? The girl you've been seeing since last year?" She asks him. "You denied for months… Nicky, I can't believe you lied to me."

"I didn't lie to you, Ma. I couldn't tell you… things at work… they were complicated. I couldn't risk adding another mark in my record"

"And you only realized that now? Maria and I have been trying to tell you that for years and you never listened… just buried yourself in that job…"

"Hey!" He yells. "It's done, all right? I ain't comin' back. You got your wish."

"My wish?" Her voice breaks and she sniffles. "Hijo, look at what this job has done to you. Do you think I enjoy seeing you like this? Do you think I want my son to move across the country? Do you think I wanted to see you forced into retirement when you're still so young? Nicky… My heart breaks for you and all I want is for you to find that peace you once had with Maria and Zara. I pray for your happiness all the time…"

He sighs. "Ma, please don't worry about me. I'll be fine," he assures her.

"Es ella catolica?"

"What?" He asks, and you can hear the consternation in his tone. "No, but why would that matter?"

"You really want to be paying alimony to three different women for the rest of your life?"

"Whoa!" A surprised and nervous laugh erupts from the hallway. "Amanda's not… she's not –"

"La amas?"

The conversation is in suspension as you hold your breath. You figure everyone in the house is holding it all in, anticipating his answer.

"Yes."

"Dios mio, Nicky… What are you going to do? She's not making you stay here, is she?"

"No, she would never make me to do that."

"But she's not moving with you." Cesaria shoots back. "If she loved you, she would move with you."

"Ma, it's not that simple." He sighs and it's followed by a long pause. "Her life is here. She's got a career and she's got _so_ much potential. I would never take that away from her."

"Hijo, I just don't want to see you get hurt," she says in a caressing voice. "Long distance isn't healthy. It was venenoso when Maria was overseas, and it hasn't done you any favors since your kids moved away. This is just adding more stress to your life."

"I trust her," he replies. "Amanda and I will make it work."

As much as you wanted to bolt out of that front door, your feet remained firmly planted on the floor. When Nick emerged out of the hallway, he sent you an apologetic look. His mother followed after, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. You're not entirely sure which part of the conversation turned things around for Cesaria, or if she was just putting on a brave face like her son. But when she joined you back on the table, she made an effort to engage you in good-natured conversation. It may have been Nick asking her to show some respect, or it may have been after he admitted his feelings for you. Either way, your nerves eased when Cesaria looked at you from across the table and sent you a small, but genuine, smile that brought out a recognizable pair of dimples.

After insisting on doing the dishes and making sure her son's fridge was stocked, Cesaria pulled you aside and thanked you for being here for him. She didn't cry, pull you into a tight embrace, and welcome you into the family; but it was enough. And you were secretly grateful that was the extent of your moment together; otherwise it would have been too much pressure upon meeting the madre for the first time. Once she peppered her son's forehead with kisses and bid you both good night, you and Nick found yourselves back on the couch. The TV was on but you dialed down the volume. His right leg stretched across the length of the sofa while his head rested on your lap and your fingers coiled around his ebony curls.

"I don't know how much you heard…"

"I heard some of it," you admit, nervously chewing on your lip.

He turns his head from the screen so that he's looking up at you. "I meant it when I said we'll make it work. Amanda, I know it's not going to be easy, but if you're willing to try this long distance thing for a while, then I'll do whatever it takes."

You nod as you caress his head with your palm. He looks so small and vulnerable in this position. "I want to make it work, too."

Nick's smile reaches his eyes as he lifts his hand and traces his thumb along your cheekbone. You bend down for a brief kiss before he turns his attention back to the TV.

You know the odds are stacked against the two of you. People say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but you're convinced it's just a saying to keep hope alive between parted lovers. Then, there's the fact that there seems to be very little faith in the success of your relationship. Even if Cesaria had thanked you for being there for him since the shooting, she still thought of you as the anchor weighing him down to the city that ruined him.

You can't really blame her, because from the outside looking in, that's exactly what it looks like. How can Nick have that fresh start when he has you to worry about?

You and Nick come from these complicated families full of mistrust and betrayal, but you both wouldn't trade it for anything. There's love and loyalty in spite of all the chaos. Some people would say that just because you were born into it, doesn't necessarily mean you're obligated to stay. But you and Nick were forced to grow up early and there's always been that sense of responsibility of holding the fort down when your parents couldn't.

While your relationship with Nick started out in the midst of a mess – the shooting of a 14-year-old kid and your undercover gambling operation – you found your stride along the way. The universe threw its shit at the two of you and you leaned on each other for safety and support. The people you were supposed to rely on – the people who shared your blood and who you called 'family' on paper – they had conveniently slipped out when you needed them most. You have been here for him especially during this trying time. And he's here now, with you, to encourage you to reach for those dreams you've doubted. For a while, you were so lost, feeling like a failure to your boss, to your partner, and to yourself that the eagerness that once lit that ambition had fizzled out. Nick was there to remind you that he still believed in you. And while you were still too insecure about his suggestion to take up the sergeant's exam; it still made you feel fortunate that someone looked out for you and wanted to see you succeed.

Nick gets it. He understands what this job means to you and the sense of purpose you gain from being in this line of work. You know he feels the exact same way, and this is why his 'forced' early retirement is so hard on him. And in spite of all the setbacks he's been through and the necessary steps he has to make, Nick still remains the nicest guy you've met since moving to New York. He wants to see you grow and he wants to root for you.

You and Nick come from families with broken lines and jagged edges. You may not share the same DNA or live under the same roof, but in the purest sense of the word, Nick is the closest thing you have to _family_.


	9. Green Eyes

_**AN:** Thank you for the reviews for The Family You Choose. I really appreciate and get so excited when I receive reviews. It's especially motivating when I hear back from you and get your thoughts on my interpretation of the characters and their story. I hope the writers bring up Nick's suggestion and support if/when Amanda becomes sergeant next season. It makes me want to write more to know that there are people out there who *get* Rollaro like I do, and who want to continue reading in spite of it being pretty much over on the show. So, thank you for fuelling this strange hobby of mine to write Rollaro fanfic. _

_This next one-shot was also a request from an anon on tumblr. They asked for a story where **Amanda plays a jealous girl, where maybe Erin Lindsay or another girl is hitting on Nick.** I ended up not writing the other woman as Erin Lindsay because I don't watch Chicago PD and I don't want to mischaracterize her. This story is sort of inspired by hipster Nick, who is featured in **lucyspencer**'s Those Graces and **cheertennis12**'s "deleted" scenes Grace for the Road and Fall from Grace. Only this time, Nick is the uncool dad and Amanda is a total hipster (think 15.5 Wonderland Story when she and Fin went UC to that hipster pop-up party). _

* * *

**Green Eyes**

* * *

"What are you wearing?"

When she opens the front door, you're expecting a smile and a kiss from your girlfriend; instead you're at the receiving end of a rhetorical question that's meant to make you feel even more apprehensive about your sartorial choices. You look down at the outfit you thought about for ten minutes, which is about nine minutes longer than it usually takes you to get dressed. She said 'casual', so you obviously went for your standard casual look – unbuttoned plaid shirt, grey t-shirt, dark wash jeans, and a pair of grey Vans.

"What are _you_ wearing?" You counter, pointing to the top of your head. Amanda pinches the brim of her wool hat between her fingers as she scowls in your direction. It's immature to bring it up, but it also wasn't very nice of her to make you feel so crappy about your clothes when you were hesitant about going out in the first place. You immediately wish you can take back your words when she removes the wide-brimmed, camel-colored hat and ruffles her wavy blonde locks. "No, no… keep the hat. It's cute."

"Who said I wasn't wearing it tonight?" She snaps back defensively and sets it back on top of her head. "You got a problem with my hat?"

"Nah," you reply, shaking your head. "Just don't see the point in wearing one when it's dark out.

She rolls her eyes and steps past you to close the door behind her. Amanda looks great, as usual. She's not dressed in the frilly bow blouses, black pants, and trench coats she's usually wearing at work; but she looks just as good – maybe even better – in her white, bohemian dress, suede ankle boots, and clanging silver bracelets. Once inside the elevator, she gives you her full appraisal from the reflection on the door.

"Should I go back home and change?" You ask nervously.

She sighs and shakes her head. "No time for that. Our cab is waiting and _The Blushing Bedouins_ are opening tonight. We can't miss them."

You purse your lips and nod as you follow Amanda to the yellow taxi. Meanwhile, you're wondering if _The Blushing Bedouins_ are actual Bedouins who are flushed because of the desert heat, or if they're just a bunch of hipsters who get a kick out of alliterations. She directs the cabbie to drive to an abandoned garment factory in Brooklyn. At first, he doesn't understand why he's dropping you both off at such a strange location; but once he pulls up to the busy street that's lined with cabs and fixed-gear bicycles, it's like a light bulb goes off in his head and the knot between his thick, Armenian eyebrows disappears.

This isn't your scene. It's never been your scene, not even in your college days. You were always Saint Nick. That guy on campus who played college football, kept his nose in the books, and graduated with honors. Of course, you had your share of girlfriends so your social life wasn't as miserable as the nickname affirmed the impression; but your social settings were more akin to frat houses and sports bars. The most adventurous party trick you'd ever done (outside of some of the things you _had_ to do while working UC) only ever involved a beer bong. Those weird kids in college, who listened to alternative music and threw raves in abandoned buildings, was so far out of your circle that you never even pictured yourself in that sort of situation. But even back then, they seemed less intimidating than the counter-culture kids today.

Upon moving to New York, Amanda had made some interesting friends. You chalk it up to her choosing to live in a gentrified neighborhood in Brooklyn, before she was fully aware of all the weird shit that happens in those parts of the city. Yet she still chooses to live in her neighborhood, so you're fully convinced she's a hipster (no matter how many times she denies it). By extension of her friendships, she's also developed a fondness for this odd genre of music that you apparently 'just don't understand'. It's called Post-Americana, which sounds apocalyptic but it's actually just banjos and mandolins mixed with keyboards and synthesizers.

"It's like Mumford &amp; Sons meets Jem &amp; The Holograms." – that was the first thing you said when Amanda played it for you.

"It _so_ does not sound like Mumford &amp; Sons."

You're both seeing one of her favorite local Post-Americana acts. It's this band called _The Pussy's Pyjamas_. It's an American band and the lead singer has roots in the South, but they still insist on spelling pajamas the British way. You're not above calling out the pretentiousness of your girlfriend's current monthly obsession; she usually just tunes you out though. But tonight, you decide to come along, play nice, (barely) dress the part, and jam out with your girlfriend and her hipster posse. Part of it is because you don't really have anything better to do tonight, and the other part is because you actually kind of dig the 80s nostalgia of _The Pussy's Pyjamas_. Also, you're a bit curious to see what the lead singer looks like since he's always performing under a brown paper bag. Maybe you can sneak behind the stage and find out. You're a detective; you're just hardwired to think this way.

When you step out of the cab, she turns to you and tousles your hair. Apparently, looking effortlessly lazy and cool takes a lot more effort than that time you had to get dressed up to go UC at a gay bar with Fin. "Please don't be embarrassing."

"Me?" You ask in feigned disbelief. "I'm a dad. That's what I do."

She rolls her eyes. "Just don't get into any arguments tonight and call the music pretentious, okay? Can you rein it in for one night?"

"Anything for you, babe." You lean down and kiss her softly before she pulls away. She links her arm around yours and practically drags you to the door.

Amanda pulls out a pocket watch from her fringed purse and shows it to the bouncer. You don't know if you should be calling him a bouncer because he probably has less than 5% body fat and even less muscle. He's also wearing a Mad-Hatter-style hat and a monocle, so it's hard to take him seriously. "You may enter."

You furrow your brows, but you have very little time to ponder if everyone around you is on drugs before Amanda's tugging at your arm and pulling you into the crowded room. The warehouse is dimly lit apart from the string lights and paper lanterns hanging off the steel beams. The space is filled with people topped with hats in all shapes and sizes. You've already shared your sentiments about the sheer pointlessness of the accessory at this time of the day, at this time of the year; but you make the smart decision not to mention it again to your absolutely delighted girlfriend.

She's been looking forward to this gig all week, and it shows in the way she's yanking your arm and dodging bodies to get closer to the stage. Earlier today, Fin 'accidentally' ripped the cord from her headphones and the sound of banjos and synthesizers filled the squad room. Upon hearing the bluesy growl of the lead singer, Fin said, "What the fuck is this white people noise?" And even though it was her partner who said it and you tried your best to suppress your laughter, you still got the swift smack of a case file to the back of your head.

Amanda courses through the mob like some sort of flower child, and the crowd stops and parts for her. You feel a swell of pride rise up your chest, knowing she's _your_ girl. And you may be an 'old man', as she teasingly called you a few days ago when you asked her if SMH stood for 'So Many Haters'; but you're still _her_ uncool, 41 year-old boyfriend.

She looks beautiful tonight, even with the unnecessary hat, so you make it a point to lean over her shoulder and whisper the compliment in her ear. She looks back and smiles at you just as _The Blushing Bedouins_ take the stage and pluck their first chord.

A group of people wave in your direction and Amanda runs off to join them. They're Amanda's friends outside of work. They're nice, they all seem to get along, and they all have their own set of inside jokes. You're happy that Amanda's got her own set of friends; you just wish you could stand to be around them for longer than two hours every six months. Every other sentence is a reference that flies right over your head. There's also the fact that none of these thirty-somethings have kids, but they have very strong opinions on parenting; one of them had even compared raising a child to caring for a hedgehog. You remember that one time Amanda had to squeeze your hand, to keep you from losing it, when one of her vegan friends suggested that parents who feed their children meat are rearing them to be future serial killers.

"Hey! You brought your significant other!"

You smile politely as you approach them, and notice that the group has doubled in size since the last time you saw them. _Great._

"Yeah! Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Nick," she says, patting you on the chest. She lists off the names of the new people in the group and your brain shuts down somewhere between Gunther and Melody.

"So, Nick, huh? Is that short for Nikolai?"

"Uh…" You cast a confused glance at Amanda before you turn back to the girl whose name, you're certain, is some sort of Indian dish you've encountered in a fair share of take-out menus. "It's short for Nicholas."

"Oh," she responds with disappointment.

"I have to say, I love the look." Melody strokes her chin and nods with approval.

Amanda beams from ear to ear. "Thanks, Mel."

"Oh, no, I was talking about your SO," Melody smiles apologetically. "I just love the plaid shirt with the old-school Vans… Grunge is so in right now."

"Uh, thanks," you say, before turning to your girlfriend who's looking slightly annoyed. "Babe, I'm going to get us a drink. You want your usual?" She nods her head and waves her hand dismissively before you scurry along and head towards the bar, which is basically code word for 'freedom'.

"Can I get a PBR and a Dos Equis?"

The bartender, who's wearing a beanie in the middle of May, raises a pierced brow. "We only serve craft beers here. And half-off, if you bring your own jug."

"Okay, fine." You narrow your eyes. "I'll have whatever's strongest. And make it two."

The bartender returns with two bottles with labels featuring an image of an anatomically correct heart being pierced by a unicorn. You give him your twenty, but he doesn't return your change. It takes a moment before you realize that independent (screw-it-up-yourself) breweries like to jack up their prices while simultaneously preaching against capitalism. You turn around, ready to tell Amanda to savor every drop of her beer that's probably made out of human blood and unicorn tears, when you nearly collide into someone.

"Shit! I'm sorry… Should'a been watching where I was going."

"No worries," the girl says, smoothing her cropped tank top. She flashes a bright smile. She's a petite woman, but the sleeves of tattoos, the nose ring, smoky eyes, and dark red lip make her look like one of those ninja assassins from a Bond film. "I probably shouldn't have been sneaking up on you."

"Oh?" _So she is a ninja?_

"I'm kidding," she chuckles softly. "Just wanted to get a beer."

"Yeah, of course," you reply, stepping aside so she can order her drink. "Just so you know, they only serve craft beers."

She turns to you, cocks her head to the side, and studies you carefully.

"Bet you knew that already."

She nods her head, laughs at your cluelessness, and extends her arm out. "I'm Chloe."

"Nick." You shake her hand.

"So, you got the Heaux Garden." She points to the two bottles you're holding. You read the label and see the clever homophone. "Great choice. It's made by this brewery slash garden co-op in Bushwick. I actually know the people who own it… This one guy, who works there, is actually the bassist for the band."

"They have a bassist?" You ask in complete bewilderment.

"I know, right?" Her kohl-outlined eyes widen. "Doesn't sound like they have one on the record, but the band wanted those rich tones to sound like a whisper. Very avant-garde musical choice, if you ask me."

You nod your head and pretend to understand what she means as she rattles on about other stylistic choices made by _The Pussy's Pyjamas_. You discover that Chloe is actually a freelance graphic designer for the band; and she's responsible for the cheeky logo of a pajama-dressed cat emerging out of a blooming orchid. She's also a part-time fashion blogger, who also happens to think your standard casual wear is _so_ grunge.

"So, what other bands are you into?"

"Uh… I've always liked The Doors, Neil Young… You know, uh, older stuff." They're two acts you actually enjoy that seem safe enough to mention in this type of crowd. You don't think it would go over very well, if you revealed that you have, on occasion, bopped to Taylor Swift with your eight-year-old daughter.

"Wow, that's… cool… Like, they're probably dead by now or something, but I'm sure they're still so influential." She nods her head. Chloe pays for her beer, which is topped up in her forty-ounce jug, and takes a swig. "So, you come here alone?"

"Actually –"

"Oh my god!" She cries out, interrupting you mid-speech to point to the horde of people in front of the stage. "That's Silas Bonas!"

You furrow your brows as you study the shrimpy-looking guy with the tight, purple pants and the thick-rimmed glasses. "Who?"

"He's a huge artist. Very revolutionary. He does these mixed media installments all over the city," she explains with sweeping hand gestures. "You know that sculpture in Sternberg Park with the Laffy Taffy tongues and the jungle cats made out of wire and copper sheets?"

"Uh, can't say I've seen it."

"No!" She smacks your arm and looks completely flabbergasted. "You have to check it out. It will literally change your life… It's not too far from my place so I can totes take you after the show."

"What? Um… It's really nice of you to offer, but I'm actually here with my girlfriend." You raise the two beers to prove that you're not lying. "I should go look for her."

"Really? A girlfriend?" Chloe narrows her eyes. "You two aren't monogamous, are you? Monogamy is such an artificial, social concept designed by man to suppress humanity's basic desires. The world is such an open, unbounded place with so much to explore in terms of cultures, and minds, and sexualities…"

You swallow hard as she steps toward you and corners you at the edge of the bar.

"I… uh… I should go."

"Nick?"

You look over Chloe's shoulder to see Amanda staring daggers in your direction. You lean back and slide past the petite woman to make your way to the woman who could potentially murder you. "Hey, babe," you say in a pitch that's a few octaves higher than your normal voice. She snatches the beer from your hand and guzzles it down before she grimaces.

"What the fuck?" She looks down at the label and shakes her head.

"No PBR."

She rolls her eyes. _Yes, Amanda, some places are too hipster – even for you. _

"Who the fuck is that?"

You look over your shoulder and see Chloe waving her fingers at you from the bar. When you turn around, Amanda looks pissed. Maybe even jealous. Amanda is never a green-eyed monster, so this is news to you. In fact, you take monopoly over that character trait in this relationship, so you're a little dumbfounded by the possibility that the tables have turned. You have to ask her just to make sure you're not imagining things.

"Wait, are you jealous?"

She laughs darkly and attempts to make light of your supposedly ludicrous question. "No way!"

"Sounds like you are. I mean, it's okay, babe." You grin condescendingly. "It happens."

Her glare scares you on any other day of the week, but tonight you realize you have the upper hand. You might as well make the most out of it. You never know when an opportunity like this is ever going to strike. "What were you even talking about?"

"The band."

She tilts her head to the side and looks at you disbelievingly. "The band? You couldn't even hold a minute-long conversation to discuss their music with me, and you were gone for fifteen minutes discussing the band?"

"She had a lot to say," you reply defensively. "Then we saw this guy who does these weird sculptures at Sternberg Park, and she told me about them."

"You saw Silas Bonas?!" Amanda jerks her head around and scans the crowd for the artist. When she can't find him, she looks at you with her mouth open and her eyes wide. "Oh my god! She talked to you about Bonas' fellatio-inspired art?"

"So, the Laffy Taffy and the cats…" Your face contorts into confusion and then, when it hits you, you shudder in disgust. "Aaah…"

"Where does she get off talking to you about _that_?" You decide to withhold the fact that Chloe essentially offered to show you the art herself. "And where does she get off putting her hands all over you?"

You raise your arms up to surrender. "Hold up, she didn't have her hands on me. She cornered me."

"She's a hundred pounds soaking wet," Amanda exclaims. "You could've picked her up and set her aside."

"I was just being polite. We were just talking… 'Sides, I was just about to leave when you came."

"How fucking convenient," she replies sarcastically.

"Amanda, come on." You try to ease the tension by resting your hands on her shoulders. She shoves them away. "You got nothing to worry about."

You must have spoken too soon because you feel a hand slide down your arm. Chloe slips herself between you and Amanda; her hand remains on your arm while your girlfriend's eyes are trained on Chloe's black-lacquered talons. "You must be the girlfriend… You know," Chloe turns to look at you. "I was expecting someone a little less girl-next-door."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh no, honey." Chloe shifts her gaze back at Amanda. "It's a compliment, but you just look a little lost around here. That's all."

Amanda cocks an eyebrow. "I suggest you get lost before I show you just how sweet I can be."

You're on the scene right away before it unfolds and turns into a full-on catfight. You separate the two girls, but mostly use your body to shield Amanda, who's struggling to get past you. "Hey, babe… Easy!"

"Nick, why don't you tell your girl to get some chill." Chloe shakes her head and twists her mouth. "And people ask me why I don't believe in monogamy. You're an individual," she stresses each syllable and finishes the word with an eye roll. "If I were you, I wouldn't be standing for this petty jealousy bullshit."

"Hey! You might not give a shit about monogamy but I do, so why don't you back off." You answer back. So much for being polite, you tell yourself. But you figure you just met Chloe, and you stood to lose a lot more if you upset your girlfriend. "I'm not interested."

Chloe stares back slack-jawed before she raises her hand and walks away. You turn back when you feel Amanda slip out of your grasp. She's storming the opposite direction and she disappears into the horde. You earn a bunch of '_fuck you, man!_'s as you shove through the crowd of people until you've finally caught up to her. Taking her by the elbow, you spin her around. "Amanda, hey, talk to me."

"What's there to talk about?" She shifts away from you and looks down on the ground.

"Look, I'm sorry she came onto me… I didn't even realize until after it happened." You scratch the back of your head and look at her with the most sorry eyes you can muster. "These people… It's hard to tell when they're hitting on you because one second they're aloof and the next, they're trying to get you back to their place –"

"Nick!" Amanda presses her palm over your mouth. "Shut up. It's not your fault, okay?"

"What?"

She pulls her hand away. "You're right. I was jealous and… I was being unreasonable, and I don't know what came over me but I really don't like it." Her eyes are wide in fear, like this peculiar emotion of jealousy is so disagreeable to her psyche.

"Amanda, it's okay."

She doesn't look convinced as she scratches her wrist and looks around the room for the nearest exit. The band starts playing the chorus and the mass of people starts jumping, and you're getting swept into the motions. You feel arms wrap around your shoulders and at the sound of banging drums, Amanda's friends have joined your circle. One of the girls – you think her name is Melody – slides up in front of you and starts grinding her ass against your crotch. Without delay, you take a step back, but Amanda is right there next to you, elbowing Melody and shoving her aside.

You feel her hands circle around your neck and pull you down into a searing kiss. Amanda's tongue slips into your mouth before you can even process what's going on. Somewhere between the next drumbeat and the fade out of the chorus, you're almost completely lost in the feel of her lips. The only thing getting in the way is the brim of her hat, which is digging into your forehead. So, you fumble the hat and toss it. You never saw the point in it anyway.

When she pulls away, her eyes are wild and her chest is rising and falling rapidly. "So, maybe I am jealous, maybe even a little possessive," she says breathlessly. Amanda glares briefly at Melody's direction as she pulls you in closer. She holds your eyes with her own blue ones, which are burning with raw, green-eyed, jealousy. "But, babe, you're mine."


	10. California Love

_**AN**: Thank you for the reviews on **Green Eyes**. That was a lot of fun to write, mostly because I got to use some of the hipster knowledge I gained during my brief stint as a liberal arts college student. _

_This next one is a request I've received several times on tumblr. They've all been anon, so they might all be from one person who REALLY, REALLY wants a **Rollaro baby**. I've said it before, but I'm not a fan of this accidental Rollaro baby concept. But I like to be challenged, so here's my attempt at a Rollaro baby story. I was almost tempted to make this tragic (because I can be a bit of an asshole), but thankfully, this one turned out pretty darn fluffy. The title is from the 2Pac song of the same name. _

_Please read, enjoy, and review! And then go check out my profile and read my new baby, **Ruined Beyond Redemption**, and let me know what you think. Thanks!_

* * *

**California Love**

* * *

_Shanti_ means inner peace; and whatever _Shanti_ you gained from three days in Palm Springs has instantly dissolved the second you found yourself stuck in the 405 Freeway. Two cars away a horn blows, which is utterly pointless seeing as you're all gridlocked and there's nowhere else to go. One second, you think the traffic starts moving, but you just find yourself disgruntled when you accelerate a grand total of eight feet in the last eight minutes.

This traffic makes you miss New York, because even though the roads are just as congested, at least there's always the possibility of abandoning your car on the side of the road and electing to take the subway instead. No one would want to steal your car in Manhattan because no one wants to bother paying for a parking spot that's half their monthly rent.

There are a lot of things you miss about New York. You miss your old partner more than anything, and you wonder how retirement is working out for him. The moment Fin got the call from 1PP, he didn't even delay like Cragen or switch offices like Munch. Fin dropped his papers off and got out of dodge from the city, deciding to settle down in Atlantic City. Last you heard, he was getting serious with his girlfriend, who suspiciously looked like a dead-ringer for Melinda Warner.

Five years ago, you probably wouldn't imagine yourself waxing nostalgic over your time with Olivia Benson. But, now, you do miss your old lieutenant. It's amazing how far Liv has grown since you first joined the unit. She's gone from first grade detective to lieutenant; and watching her rise has given you a benchmark for your own success.

After taking the sergeant's exam and working as the squad's sergeant for a year, you really saw yourself rising up the ranks in the NYPD. It also gave you great pleasure to see your lieutenant and the department vouch for you, even when Tucker reminded them of that time you were tricked into shooting your baby sister's abusive boyfriend. But in spite of the progress you've made in the 1-6, you still felt like something was missing. You tried to ignore it for the better part of a year. After all, this _thing_ that you were supposedly missing was something that you never thought you wanted or deserved.

With all the achievements you've made, no one would assume you were distracted during your stretch as sergeant. Your closure rate was on the rise and you were 900 days into sobriety. But every morning, your first and only thought was the fact that your bed felt empty without Nick Amaro beside you. And every evening, before you closed your eyes, the thoughts that kept you up for hours were how much you missed the feel of his arms around you, the softness of his hair that you felt under your fingers, the way he whispered Spanish phrases in your ear while you were in bed together…

When he left for California at the end of the summer, you two declared there would be no hard feelings about the necessary 'breakup' so you promised to stay in touch as friends. The first couple of months you called each other and even found yourselves laughing at each other and getting off on each other's voices as you attempted phone sex. But after Thanksgiving, the phone calls faded into text messages and by Christmas, all you got was a card in the mail with a picture of Nick, his two kids, and mall Santa.

On New Year's Eve, you made a drunken phone call and admitted that you wished he were in the city so you could kiss him when the ball dropped. He said 'sorry' and mentioned something about being at a dinner with Maria and her family. You can't really remember what he said, but you do remember Nick trying to put you down gently, which prompted you to ring in 2016 in a seedy bathroom stall in a friend of a friend's party. That was not one of your finest moments.

After that, communication between you just naturally deteriorated; and you'll take most of the blame for that because you postponed replying to any of his messages. You told yourself you'd reply tomorrow, but tomorrow turned to next week, and the next thing you knew, he was greeting you 'happy birthday' with a single birthday cake emoji.

You and Nick just drifted apart, like you suspected when he made the announcement that he was moving to California. Any new updates you heard about him, you learned from his sporadic updates on his Facebook page. But Nick was never one to share his personal life online, so you knew close to nothing. Anything else of substance, you heard from Liv. _That_ was a friendship that continued to stay alive undeterred by distance. But you didn't really want to ask Liv how he was doing, so you sort of just waited until the topic of Nick Amaro was brought up in passing conversation.

You remembered the day Liv squealed, 'oh my god!" Your head whipped up to peer across the desk to see the equally shocked look on your partner's face. When you looked over at Carisi, whose eyes were wider than that time you two walked into a room with three dead strippers, he pouted his lips and shrugged his shoulders. The three of you got out of your desks and crowded over to her office to see what could have warranted her out-of-character, almost teenage-girl-sounding exclamation.

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and narrowed her eyes at all of you. With her phone in her hand, she motioned for you all to step inside so she could show you the picture of an adorable puppy with the sweetest green eyes. "Amaro picked him up from the humane society this morning. Looks like he has a new roommate." You were happy for him and the adorable, little guy; but for a flicker of a second you thought bitterly about how he had replaced Frannie. After that, you mentally berated yourself for projecting your issues onto your pet.

Two and a half years ago, you were staking out a suspect and you were sitting in a squad car with Liv. Randomly, she mentioned that Nick was getting surgery on his knee again. When she saw the worry on your face, she immediately shook her head and tried to reassure you with a smile. "No, it's good. They say this surgery has a good chance of bringing the full function of his knee back."

Eight months later, Liv was showing the squad pictures and postcards Nick had sent from a trip down in South America. It was as if the repaired cartilage in his knee granted him a new lease on life; so for three months he backpacked around the continent and picked up new hobbies in surfing and photography. You got a lot more social media updates in those three months, but a majority of those updates were creatively and aesthetically improving landscape shots of the salt flats in Bolivia and the Machu Pichu in Peru.

"So, I heard from Nick this weekend," Liv announced to you, Fin, and Carisi one day. "He told me he just got a job working as an investigator for the DA's office in LA. Looks like he really is following in Munch's footsteps."

That was right after he returned from his wild and crazy trip south of the border. Four months later, Liv was flying out to LA with Noah so they could visit uncle Nick and be the first to use the new guest room in his Spanish-style reno. She returned from that trip with a tan and a new suitcase of toys for Noah.

It seemed, that from the tidbits Liv told you, Nick was doing well down on the west coast. At least, a lot better than he had anticipated the months before he made the big move. You remembered his uncertainty and his feeling of inadequacy. You remembered the heartbreak, but it wasn't solely because you had to end your undefined relationship, but because you knew you were going to miss having him around as a co-worker and a friend. You just never expected it to hurt as much as it did.

The driver behind you slams on their horn and you roll your eyes as you move two car lengths forward and then stop. You're tempted to give them the finger, but instinctively, you check the back seat to make sure there aren't any children around.

Your mind drifts back to two summers ago when Liv announced that Nick was going to visit because it was his mother's 65th birthday. Apparently, he made plans to stop by the 1-6. You remembered feeling uneasy the days leading up to his visit, hoping you'd get called into a case. On the day he was scheduled to revisit the old stomping grounds, you and Carisi had to drive upstate to talk to the parents of a suspect and you didn't make it back to the precinct until after dark. You were so relieved that you didn't have to run into him, but the moment you walked into the squad room, you sensed something was different.

That was when he turned around and saw you through Liv's window. His face was covered in scruff and his skin was a deeper bronze. He actually looked like he had gotten younger since the last time you saw him.

Carisi beat you to it and practically sprinted into the squad room to give Nick a hug, while you stood outside and watched their friendly exchange. You kept your eyes on him and you noticed that even when Carisi kept talking to him, he kept glancing over at you. It took a few seconds for you to snap out of it and enter Liv's office, where you awkwardly waved at him before he pulled you in for a long embrace. His scruff scratched against your cheek as he whispered, "I've missed you."

After your reunion, it wasn't easy letting go again. Nick had to fly out two days later, but this time you made a better effort at staying in touch. Phone calls to check up on each other became phone calls to keep each other company, while he was cooking dinner or while you were walking Frannie. Skype turned from a weekly thing, to something you did every night before you went to bed; it was a good thing you slept late because the time difference ended up working out for the two of you. Nick also visited New York more often, and you finally listened to Fin and used up your vacation hours to fly down to LA so you could see his renovations firsthand. You were skeptical of his ability to use power tools and his ability to balance on a surfboard, so he dared you to witness both firsthand. But, unlike the Bensons, when you came to visit you had no use for the guest room.

You were overjoyed to return to New York with a ring on your finger. That first Monday back, you kept chewing your lip, trying to suppress your smile during the elevator ride to the squad room. Once you saw Fin, Carisi, and Liv crowding around a laptop, you just couldn't wait anymore and so you pulled your hand from behind your back and showed them that Nick had finally popped the question.

Everyone was happy for you. And although it was easy coming to the decision to leave New York and relocate to California, it wasn't easy saying goodbye to your squad. Still, you promised to stay in touch the way Nick had always stayed in touch with Olivia. That relieved your lieutenant, who was having a bit of a crisis dealing with all the sudden departures – your relocation and Fin's retirement. But you reminded her that she had Noah and they were always welcome to visit you in LA if they wanted to fly somewhere warm for the winter.

Since moving to LA, things between you and Nick moved at a faster pace than you were both used to. You'd known Nick for so long that there was no need for a long engagement. You drove up to Napa and got married in a small ceremony with close friends and family. You started your job as sergeant in the sex crimes division of the LAPD; but less than three months after getting your shield you got a bit of an unexpected surprise. It wasn't the most enjoyable experience, knocking on your captain's door and asking, "so, hey, I know I just started here, but what's the course of action when applying for mat leave?"

The sound of the radio is interrupted by the loud buzz of your phone. You press the hands-free option on your car when you see your husband's name flashing on the screen.

"Hey, babe," his voice never fails to put a smile on your face. "Still stuck in traffic?"

"Yeah, but the GPS is telling me I should be home in twenty minutes," you tell him, mentally crossing your fingers that this traffic will let up since you're two exits away from freedom. There's a commotion in the background – a jumbled symphony of two dogs barking, the gunshots from Gil's video game, and the latest Taylor Swift jam being belted at the top of Zara's lungs. "Miss me already?"

"Mhmmm… I didn't know what I was thinking sending you off on that yoga retreat." The volume of his voice lowers and you can hear him step into a quieter area of the house. "Baby, I missed you."

You smile at the memory of three days and two nights of tranquility in Palm Springs. When your husband proposed the idea as a way to de-stress and get out of the chaos of your house for a few days, you were hesitant. After all, you practically hadn't moved or averted your eyes since the day you left the hospital four months ago. But Nick promised he would handle things at home and assured you updates almost every hour – complete with pictures and video when necessary.

You ended up not being able to see those updates in real time because you were either deep in meditation or in some new _asana_ that took you on a higher plane of enlightenment. Nick was right; you needed this retreat.

"Missed you too, babe," you admit. "But how are y'all over there? Sounds like you have your hands full."

"I'm fine," he says, and it's followed by a crash.

"What was that?"

You hear more commotion – the sound of metal clanging, the bang of a door, and the shuffling of feet. "You get back here!" Nick shouts.

All you can do is laugh as your car is filled with the auditory pandemonium of what's going on in your house. If you close your eyes, it's like the dogs are barking in the back seat. Zara's singing is starting to sound like screaming, and Gil is telling everyone to shut their mouths because he can't hear his friends through his Bluetooth headset.

"Hey, babe, how much did you like that blue vase you kept on top of the console?"

"I mean, I liked it…" you trail off, figuring out that the vase was probably the reason for the sound of the crash. "But wasn't that Liv's wedding present? One-of-a-kind piece made by her friend?"

"Shit."

"Language, dad!" You hear Zara call him out. "Put your dollar in the jar."

"You heard the little lady," you chuckle.

"Fine, fine… Jesus Christ –"

"Blasphemy!" Gil yells, which you think is quite funny considering some of the things you've heard from his friends while they're playing that shooter game Fin got him hooked on the last time your old partner came to visit. Gil's voice echoes again through the speakers, "That's another five dollars, dad."

Nick mutters something under his breath and you hear him pull out the glass jar and set it down on the kitchen counter. "Looks like the kids are getting that Six Flags trip early this summer."

"You really think we could have made it through the whole month of May without swearing in front of the kids?" You ask rhetorically. "You know, I gave us a chance by going away this weekend, but it sounds like you did a piss poor job while I was away."

"Why do you think I sent you down to Palm Springs, miss potty mouth," he teases back just before you hear another crash. Thankfully, whatever this object is doesn't shatter, but the impact causes the dogs to start barking again. Then you hear a high-pitched wail and your heart turns into a puddle of mush. "Baby, please come home," he tells you. And you can just imagine him pouting those lips and looking at you with those big, brown, puppy dog eyes. "We need you."

When you make it home, the Spanish colonial house looks completely normal and totally peaceful. You park your car on the driveway because Nick has monopolized the garage with his newest project – Zara's vanity. He's not exactly thrilled with the idea of his 12-year-old daughter saving up her allowance to earn Beauty Insider points at Sephora, but he's a good dad and he supports her even when he can't tell apart lip gloss from lipstick. But the vanity and his workspace look exactly the same as when you left a few days ago, which confirms your suspicion that your husband never got any time to work on his project during this Memorial Day weekend.

As soon as you step out of the car, you see something fly across the window. You're not sure what that fleeting streak of neon was, but you hope to god they aren't playing ultimate Frisbee in the living room. The second you step into the house, Zara's does a _jete_ across the room and wraps her arms around your waist. Gil rapidly speaks to his online friends, says his apologies about having to die, before he chucks the headset down on the couch. He rises up and walks toward the door to kiss you on the cheek.

From down the hall, Frannie and Prado bound down your weathered hardwood floors to greet their momma. You try to give them equal attention, but this doesn't seem to satisfy your first born, who turns her nose up like a diva before she disappears into the kitchen.

"Where's your daddy?" you coo into Prado's adorable little face.

The warm California breeze streams into the room just as Nick walks in with two serving dishes of steak and shrimp that he's just grilled for dinner. After three days of juice cleanses and kale salads in your desert oasis, the smell of succulent ribeye steaks and fresh seafood makes your mouth water. Or, it could be the sight of your husband in a white t-shirt walking in to welcome you home.

"Hey, beautiful." He bends down to kiss you.

You wrap and arm around his waist and pull him in closer, which is a little hard to do with his hands full. "Hey, handsome." You never pictured yourself to be one of those couples with the cheesy pet names, but ever since you moved here, it's like your life turned into this weird, romantic comedy. Not that you're complaining; it's actually nice not having to worry about the tragedies that brought you and Nick closer together, but also ripped the two of you apart.

Maybe there's something in the water in California - the drought notwithstanding – that's gotten you and Nick in this extended honeymoon phase. Whatever it is, you're starting to feel a little parched as he kisses you again before he turns around and heads for the kitchen

"Oh," he says, stopping in his tracks. He cranes his neck over his shoulder and uses his lips to point to the baby monitor in his back pocket. You reach down for it, squeezing his ass while you're at it. He throws you a cheeky grin and raises his eyebrows; but you just cock your head to the side and feign innocence.

As you climb up the stairs, you press the baby monitor to your ear but you don't hear a thing. As a new mom, you're not sure if this should please you or unsettle you. It's funny, because you always teased Nick about being the paranoid one; but when it comes to this parenthood thing – you've got him beat on the emotional instability front.

You pass by Zara and Gil's rooms, which both look lived-in even if this house isn't legally their permanent address. Still, it's nice when they're here; and seeing what it does for your husband just makes your heart swell with happiness. Leaving your suitcase out in the hall, you gently open the door and enter one of the rooms. The soft lullaby of the mobile, the eggshell white walls, and the pastel green linens bring you back to that place of _Shanti_.

A soft cry comes from inside the crib and you look down to see a pair of big blue eyes staring up at you. "Hello, Alex." You pick up the four-month old boy and cradle him in your arms. You kiss the top of his head, and tell him you've missed him so much and you couldn't stop seeing his face when your guru kept repeating that mantra about finding beauty in nature. Holding him at arm's length, you smile when you see his mouth, just like his father's, curl up into what looks like a classic Amaro smirk. He reaches out for you and tries to coil his little fist around your hair.

You hear the sound of footsteps padding down the hall and the gentle creak of the opening door. Your husband's scent of masculine woods and spice fills your senses as he slips his arm around your waist and pulls you against him. Nick rests his chin on your shoulder and he reaches down to play with Alex' feet.

"He's going to have your smile," you point out.

Nick presses a kiss to your cheek. "And he's got your beautiful eyes, so you know he's going to grow up to be a charmer."

"Just like his dad then," you retort, baiting him into the compliment.

He raises his hands up in surrender and smirks cockily. That same almost-smile you received from your little boy just moments ago. "Worked on you."

The wail of a baby interrupts your playful banter. Alex stares up at you with wide eyes and you try to soothe him. "Shhh… Mommy's here."

Nick crosses over to the other side of the nursery and picks up your four-month-old baby girl. "Did we wake you up from your nap?" He picks her up and presses his nose against her tiny nose. "Lo siento, cariño."

He rocks little Noelle in his arms until her sobs quiet down and she sucks her cheeks in, showing off her daddy's dimples. You meet Nick in the middle of the room and glance down to smile at your little angel, born eight minutes after her twin brother.

When you found out you were pregnant about a year ago, you weren't exactly planning on it but you hadn't done anything to prevent it either. You and Nick came to the agreement that you'd welcome the possibility of having a child together if it were to happen. Two months after you got off birth control, you missed your period so you drove down to the drugstore to pick up four different brands of pregnancy tests. As you waited for the sticks to tell you your fate, you remembered making a joke about Nick's potent sperm.

You made the same joke (with less humor and more fear, this time) four months later when you went in for your scheduled ultrasound, and your OB-GYN announced you were having fraternal twins. Nick's swimmers had overachieved and fertilized two of your eggs. _So, great job, dad!_ But even with all the unexpected surprises, the pregnancy hormones, and the anxiety that came with the realization that you were bringing two babies into the world, you wouldn't have traded this for anything.

Looking up to meet Nick's eyes, he shifts closer to you and lifts Noelle up so you can press a kiss to the top of her head. She doesn't have a lot of hair yet (in fact, she's got less of it than her brother), but your husband says that's probably a sign she's going to grow up a blonde like you. Nick sets her back down against his shoulder and he bounces her up and down much to her delight. Alex squirms against your arms, and it's almost like he senses he's missing out on the fun. You mimic Nick's movements and your son coos and burps into your shoulder. Nick laughs softly as he casts you a look, quietly saying, 'welcome home'.


	11. Kitchen Nightmares

_**AN**: Thank you to those who read and reviewed **California Love**. My next request was Gil and Zara walking in on Nick and Amanda having sex. I can't scar the kids too much so I did my own version of it, and hopefully the anon who requested it will be fine with this story. I meant for these to be stand-alone fics, but this one is sort of a sequel off the last one. Yes, the twins will be featured in this fic. Read, enjoy, and review!_

_And please check out my other two fics: **Ruined Beyond Redemption** and **Save Room**._

* * *

**11\. Kitchen Nightmares**

* * *

You can do a four-in-hand knot in your sleep; and you might as well have considering you're doing it in complete darkness without the requisite cup of coffee. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you tighten the striped tie around your neck and smooth it down to lay flat and center.

The alarm clock flashes the time as 7:27AM in bold red characters. It's the only source of light in the room; even the blinding California sunshine can't penetrate through those blackout curtains. It's one of the few things you discovered about the woman sleeping in your bed. She can't sleep unless a room is pitch black, whereas you're quite the opposite. Not that you sleep with a nightlight or anything like that, but you like to have some visibility of your surroundings in case there's a break-in. Explaining your rationale only gives her more ammunition to call you out on your paranoia. But then you remind her that she should reconsider teasing you because, after all, you caved to her sleeping preferences. Not the other way around.

The wife may win this battle, but she should be at least a little more grateful.

Looking over your shoulder at Amanda's sleeping frame, you smile and feel at peace knowing she's finally home. After 48 hours of working the ground on a case of a missing four-year-old girl, her squad finally found the girl a few miles from the Mexican border. Amanda was still running on adrenaline when she arrived home past midnight. But beneath all her excitement (and caffeine), she was on the brink of exhaustion. What she did to you to use up all that pent up adrenaline and what you did to send her to a peaceful, uninterrupted slumber were probably best not mentioned just before you had to run to work; but you can't help but grin wickedly as you discover her handcuffs attached to the bed post. Rubbing your wrist with your thumb, you note that your skin still feels raw, but it's the kind of pain you don't mind at all.

Lowering your head, you press a soft kiss on top of her head.

Wallet, phone, and keys go in your pockets; and your watch slides over your left wrist. As silently as possible, you try to make your way across the room towards the door. But since you're trying so hard not to wake her up and luck has never been on your side, your hip slams into the sharp corner of your dresser.

"Motherfuuuuuuuu—"

You clamp down on your bottom lip as you wince in pain. Amanda stirs in her sleep and her face contorts in annoyance. "Shhh…" she mumbles half-asleep.

Holding onto your breath, you tiptoe out of the room, slowly turning the knob to let in as little light as possible. She groans, sensing the intrusion, but she falls back into her slumber once you close the door.

You walk down the hall and turn towards the twins' bedroom. Alex is off on his side of the room, playing with blocks. He's already dressed himself in his favorite Captain America t-shirt and sailboat print shorts, which were a birthday present from his uncle Rafael. Meanwhile, Noelle is hidden under a pile of clothes. You chuckle as you lift her out of the contents of her dresser only to find her wearing six different layers of clothing.

"Mija, you're going to feel hot under all these clothes. Why don't you just pick one shirt to wear?"

"But I want to," she whines, sounding just like Zara did when she was her age. Noelle's lip juts out and her big brown eyes blink to await your response.

"Daddy," Alex says from his neater side of the room. "I tell Noey same thing."

You can't help but smile when your son confirms what your wife has been telling you for the longest time – your son is a chip off the old block.

Noelle tries to pull off the shirts and dresses, but struggles when her head and arms get stuck. You help her, but she refuses your assistance, wanting to dress herself on her own. "Just like mommy," you say, smiling as she finally agrees to let you help her. Once she's down to her last layer of clothing, she pulls down at the hem of her light blue shirt with a graphic of a pink bow.

"All right, we good to go, space cadets?"

Both of them stand up straight and salute. The twins have been obsessed with anything space-related in recent weeks thanks to your weekend outing at the California Science Center. You tried to explain what you were seeing in a way that would make sense to three-year-olds, but the twins only really cared about pretending to be Little Einsteins blasting off in their imaginary rocket ship.

Strapping the kids into the backseat of the SUV, you triple-check if they have their extra clothes, sunscreen, and sleep toys in their backpacks. When you see your daughter's golden brown hair all over her face, you reach into your pocket to find one of many hair ties. You always have at least one elastic on hand, even when you don't mean to. You stretch it out between your teeth before you collect her straight fine hair and pull it into a ponytail. Just as you're about to close the door, Alex spills his apple juice all over his shirt so you reach into the bag to pull out his second favorite Batman shirt. You haven't even left the driveway yet and you're already eager to call it a day and crash into bed.

When you drop them off, your daughter wraps her arms around your neck, plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek, and scurries down from your hip to run off to her friends. You chuckle softly as you watch her run with her tongue hanging out. She's been spending way too much time with the dogs that she's imitating their actions; Amanda fears your kid will grow up with species dysphoria (she saw a special on it on TLC), but you assure her that Noelle will grow out of it.

Just like how you hope Alex learns to break out of his shell the more time he spends with other kids in daycare. He stays behind and tugs on your tie until you finally acknowledge him.

"Be a good boy, mijo." You kiss the top of his head. "Remember to share with your friends, okay?"

He nods and smiles. You set him down on the floor and he hesitantly walks towards the cubbies to drop off his bag. He runs towards the blocks and sits down beside one of the other quiet and more laid-back kids. Once you see Alex settle in without any tears or separation anxiety, it's your cue to leave and experience some internalized separation anxiety of your own.

* * *

Working as an investigator for the LA District Attorney's office in the white collar and organized crime division is hectic on most days, but at least the schedule is more predictable than your wife's job in the sex crimes unit in the LAPD. The nature of your job is to launch investigations that target individuals and entities, which engage in money laundering and investment and securities fraud schemes. It's a lot of numbers and paperwork, which isn't your favorite, but you do get to put in some legwork from time to time. Truthfully, the work you're doing now isn't as rewarding as bringing justice to survivors of sexual assault and violence; but at least your superiors in the DA's office haven't fucked you over quite like the NYPD.

Your boss, Mark, actually encourages you to work from home as much as possible, allowing you to play stay-at-home dad while your wife kills it in her career. It works out because being an independent investigator allows you to work from anywhere and in your own schedule. Today is no exception; and Mark stresses the importance of maintaining that healthy home and work balance.

Mark reminds you of ADA Barba with the three-piece suits and the coordinated ties and pocket squares. But the comparisons end there. A born and bred Angelino, Mark is actually the chillest dude you've ever met. He will cut the work day short if the waves are really good in Malibu, and he will send you home if he finds out your wife has finally returned home after 48 hours straight of work.

"Heard they finally found that missing girl. Thank god," he says, leaning against the doorway of your office. He brings his mug up to his lips and takes a sip of his tea. That's another thing – Mark doesn't drink coffee; he only drinks decaf herbal teas that have been ethically sourced.

"Yeah, Amanda told me they were lucky to find the girl unharmed."

Mark nods. "How long was that Amber Alert out?"

"48 hours."

"Nick," he says, eyes widening like you've done something offensive. "What the fuck are you doing here? Go home to your wife."

You wave him off dismissively. "Mark, she's probably catching up on sleep."

"Come on, man, at least go pick up some food and surprise the wife when she wakes up. Trust me… and thank me later."

* * *

The second you arrive home, the dogs inhale the scent of lunch and bound for the door. You raise the paper bag above your head before Frannie and Prado can reach up to snatch it from your hands. Both dogs nuzzle against your legs, trying to appeal their way into a bite of some of the best authentic burritos in the city. You walk into the kitchen and set the bag down on the island. You then reach into one of the cabinets, pull out two treats from a box, and throw two bone-shaped biscuits in their direction. Prado takes the whole thing in his mouth and appears clueless after the entire thing disappears. Frannie licks it and contemplates eating it. When Prado slowly approaches her treat, she darts her tongue out, carries it in her mouth, and scampers out of the room.

You dash up the stairs and enter the bedroom to see your wife still in bed. She's on her belly and rolled over to your side of the bed, where she has her nose buried in your pillow. The blanket pools at her feet so you have a full view of her long legs and your white undershirt you planned to wear to bed last night, before she stole it from you. Slipping out of your shoes, you crawl to her side and spoon against her.

"Shit!" She immediately jerks up and turns her head towards the clock. "How long was I asleep?"

"Relax, babe," you reassure her, gently pushing her back down on the bed. "It's only eleven in the morning."

Her breaths start to calm down as she places her hand over her chest. You press your lips on her cheek and slide it down to the corner of her mouth. "Shouldn't you be at work?" She asks mid-yawn.

"Mark sent me home early; said I needed to make sure my sleep-deprived wife was taken care of."

"So, your idea of taking care of your sleep-deprived wife was to wake her up?"

"Hey," you argue playfully, biting your bottom lip, "the plan was to cuddle up next to you and catch up on some sleep, too. I didn't mean for you to wake up."

She turns on her side to face you. Her thumb traces along your jaw as her eyes drift down to your mouth. "It's okay. I didn't want to sleep all afternoon anyway."

"Mhmmm… we'll see about that," you whisper into her lips as you lightly graze it. Your mouth travels down to her neck where you softly press kisses along the column of her throat. She molds her body next to yours as her arm wraps around your waist. "I can tire you out…"

"Is that a –" she gasps when you suck at the sensitive spot below her ear, "—challenge?"

"Am I winning?"

"Everything a competition to you, babe?"

You suck the spot, nip it with your teeth, and soothe the light bruise with your tongue. She melts in your embrace and grinds her hips against yours. "Who would we be if we weren't engaging in a friendly rivalry?"

Amanda's hand yanks on your tie, pulling your face closer to hers. Blue eyes rake from your mouth up to meet your eyes. "Game on."

"But first," you say, reeling your head back from the approaching kiss. "I have a surprise for you downstairs."

"A surprise?"

"Come on." You slide out of bed and when she remains in her comfortable and cozy spot, you scoop her up in her arms. She pouts before she buries her face into your neck. "Don't fall asleep on me," you remind her when she settles completely in your arms as you make your way down the stairs. Once you reach the kitchen, you set her down on top of the counter. Her eyes dart to the brown paper bag and they light up when she sees the logo on the side of the bag.

"Burritos?"

You open the bag and the smell wafts into the air. She inhales deeply and claps her hand in delight, swinging her legs like a little kid.

"Did you ask for extra jalapeños and extra guac?"

"Of course I did," you say as you pull out two burritos wrapped in foil and hand one over to her. You stand between her parted legs as she unwraps her lunch with the biggest smile on her face. "You know, you seem happier to see food than to see me."

"I haven't had anything to eat since lunch yesterday, and that was just one slice of leftover pizza." She pouts before she takes a hearty bite of her burrito. "But you… I already had you last night when I got home so…"

"So I'm just useful for sex then, is that what you're saying?"

She ignores your lighthearted plea to be melodramatic, and chooses instead to take a bite of her burrito and to close her eyes to make a spectacle of how much more she's enjoying the food over you. "Mhmmm…"

Your hands run over her thighs, sliding up her hips and pulling her towards you. She arches a brow; you smirk right back at her before you take a bite of your lunch. She wraps her legs around your waist and you both stay in that position until you've finished your burritos. You eat in silence but you're eye-fucking each other the whole time. Jokingly, she takes advantage of the phallic shape of her burrito and you share silly laughs between bites.

You lower your head to run your lips against her exposed collarbone. She rests her arms on your shoulders as she tilts her head back to grant you more access.

"Alex and Noelle?" She inquires breathlessly.

"Daycare." You trace your tongue against the vein on her neck, ending just below her ear. Her skin grows hot with every touch. "Don't need to pick them up 'til five."

"I was thinking of picking them up early," she says, licking her lips and closing her eyes. "Maybe we can go to the park."

"Sounds good," you murmur into her ear.

"Oh," she moans. "Cynthia called this morning… she left a message but I was half-asleep… don't remember what she said," Amanda says between gasps as your hands drift under the shirt to cup her breasts.

"I'll call her back later," you grumble, pulling the shirt over her head. She lifts her arms up, arching her back; it's the most erotic sight seeing her stretched out over the kitchen island. He fair skin stands out against the dark stone. You trail your lips from her hips, fluttering kisses across her abdomen. She lifts herself by her forearms and watches with lidded eyes as your mouth slowly approaches her breasts.

She gasps and closes her eyes when your mouth wraps around her aroused peak. Your hand cups and gently squeezes one breast, as your tongue laps around the other.

"Nick." Her voice is strained as her legs tighten around your torso.

"Tell me what you want."

She reaches for your tie and pulls you flush against her body. Her mouth hovers over yours. "Kiss me."

The kiss is frenzied and hungry and she doesn't stop pulling on the tie, choking you around the neck. When you gasp for air, she releases her hold, and trails her kisses down your throat. Her fingers work on the buttons of your shirt, and in she slides it past your shoulders. The second you lift your undershirt over your head, your mouth connects with hers and you latch on because you've missed her already.

A pair of hands press up against your chest. She leans off the edge of the counter, just far enough that you can slip your fingers into her black lace panties and tease the smooth skin of her hips. Tugging on your bottom lip, Amanda's eyes flash open and you catch wind of her insatiable desire. Swiftly tearing her panties, you watch in awe as she leans back and lifts her legs in the air. You hold her ankles and keep her in that position; she groans at the tension in the back of her knees. You smirk and lick your lips as this view indulges you to the sight of her wetness and arousal.

She writhes on her back and wriggles her legs, but you keep a firm grip on her ankles. Bending against the back of her legs, you lean down and watch her face contort at the painful angle, but her mouth parts in pleasure as your pinch her hardened nipple between your fingers. Unable to take more of the teasing, she grabs your wrist and drapes your palm against her flushed cheek. She tilts her head to the side and wraps her mouth around your middle finger, swirling her hot tongue all the way down to the base of your knuckle. Closing your eyes, you groan and thrust your hips against her awaiting core.

Amanda moans in pleasure, releasing hold of your finger. She observes your movements under lidded eyes. Her legs relax as you loosen your hold and she plants her heels down on either side of her hips. Now that she is fully exposed and vulnerable, you blindly drag the barstool with your foot and perch on top of it. With enough distance between you, you can bend forward slightly and be at the perfect angle to have a sweet taste of her dessert.

Her closed fists pound once, twice against the counter in the split second you lower your head and suck on her core. Your tongue strokes her slit as your forearm plants down across her abdomen to keep her from going buck wild. When she's close, you slip out of her and curl your tongue around her most sensitive pearl of nerves. Her inner walls clamp around your thrusting fingers. And as her breaths hasten, she runs her fingers through your hair and grips them so hard you release an animalistic howl. Rising to her climax, she gasps out one expletive after another and finishes it off by moaning your name.

"C'mere," she whispers huskily, tugging on the short curls on your head.

Your lips slip up from her mound to her belly to the base of her throat. As you hover over her mouth, she tries to reach up to kiss you, but you pull back and smile impishly. She grits her teeth like a jungle cat ready to pounce – and she does. Lifting off the counter, Amanda kisses you so hard that you knock the stool behind you. Sitting up against the edge of the counter, she reaches around you to squeeze your ass.

"Ow," you whine when she squeezes a little too hard.

She lowers her head and smiles sheepishly. Licking your lips, you narrow your eyes and give her a warning look; but she just uses that as an invitation to become even more insubordinate as she removes your belt. Slipping it out of the loops, she pulls the belt taut and teases you with her eyes, before she tosses it across the room. Unbuttoning your slacks, you pull them down to your ankles and kick them off. Again, she reaches behind you and palms your ass before she squeezes it hard enough to make you jump.

Giggling mischievously, Amanda slips her hand underneath the hem of your boxer briefs to take you in her hand. She slides down your length and swirls her thumb along the head. You gasp as her other hand cups you. "Fuck, Amanda."

She halts her motions and pulls back so you can see the dark indigo irises circling around her dilated pupils. "Do you want to?" She curls her fingers around you and massages with every languid stroke. "Fuck me?"

"Yes, baby," you breathe hoarsely into the crook of her neck. "I want to bend you over and make you come again." Wrapping your arm around her waist, you lift her up and set her down on the floor. Her legs are shaky and she leans on you for support. Running your hands down her sides, your fingers splay just below the curve of her ass, cupping the pert cheeks and pressing against it with your body to bend her over the counter. She turns her head to the side and watches as you align yourself at her entrance.

You waste no time thrusting inside her, letting her slick heat encase your length. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel her tight walls pulse around you. Her cheek is pressed up against the counter and her lips part to moan your name in between pleas to fuck her harder and faster. With one hand weighing down on her spine to keep her in place, you take your free hand and guide it to her front. Stroking her towards her own edge, you feel yourself coming close to completion. Amanda whimpers and her legs collapse; and it's only the momentum of your rabid thrusts that's keeping her upright. She sharply draws a breath and releases as her walls convulse around you, provoking you to shoot your load deep inside her.

Your heart races as you collapse onto her back, planting a lazy kiss on the top of her spine. You close your eyes and savor the warmth of her body beneath yours; but the second you allow yourself to relax, you hear the sound of a car parking on your driveway. Amanda jerks her head up and cranes her neck to stare into your similarly panicked eyes.

"Shit," she mutters, pushing herself and you off the counter. "Who could that be?"

You peer through the window over the kitchen sink and see Gil's car on your driveway. He's emerging out of the driver's side and Zara out of the passenger's side.

"What are they doing here?" You turn around and start grabbing your clothes. Your wife stares in shock as she sees them heading inside. You have to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. "Get dressed!"

Amanda darts her head around, scrambling in search for her clothes. She finds the white tee but can't seem to find her panties. You pull on your boxers and your pants. The front door clicks open and you mentally curse yourself for giving your 17-year-old son a set of keys to the house. Picking up your button-down shirt from the floor, you slip it over your shoulders just in time for Gil and Zara to appear at the kitchen doorway.

"Dad?" Zara's eyebrows knit in confusion. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Shouldn't you be at school?" You instantly question back. Your eyes dart around your surroundings as you realize your wife's missing. Where the fuck did she go?

"Professional development day," Gil explains, narrowing his eyes at the mismatched buttons on your shirt. "We thought we'd come by a day early. I thought mom called this morning."

"Really?" You smooth down the wrinkles of your shirt, leaning down on the counter so your kids can't see that your pants are still unzipped and undone. "Must've gone to voicemail."

Gil shrugs and leans against the wall. Zara heads toward your side of the counter to get to the pantry. "I'm starving," she gripes, "Gil wouldn't stop at In-N-Out."

"It's overrated," he retorts.

"No it's not."

"Yes it is."

"Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh," he mocks her, mimicking her expression and faint valley girl accent.

Before she can cross towards the pantry, you stop her in her tracks. "Zara, why don't you and your brother get settled into your rooms. I'll make you guys some lunch," you say hastily. She cocks her head to the side and studies your disheveled appearance. You can also feel Gil quietly observing you from the other end of the room.

"Everything okay, dad?" She asks. "You're acting really weird."

"Yeah, everything's fine. Just gimme a sec to get lunch ready… I'm glad you guys are here early," you say reassuringly, forcing a smile.

Zara arches a brow and turns on her heel to walk out of the room. You're tempted to lay down the law on the length of her denim shorts, but reprimanding her for her clothing will only lead to her calling you out for hiding something.

Gil sighs as he keeps his eyes fixed on your appearance. Prado bounds into the kitchen and nudges your son's leg. A smile spreads across his face and you're thankful for the distraction.

He squats down to greet your dog, petting him behind the ears. "What have you got there?" Gil asks, reaching for Prado's mouth.

Your head whips around in a flash as you see Gil tug black lace from between the dog's teeth. He frowns and his brows knit in confusion as he stretches the fabric out. His eyes widen as the realization (and the mortification) hits him and he pitches his stepmom's panties across the room

You exchange a look of horror before he wordlessly sprints out of the room.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Zipping up your pants, you release the breath you've been holding. You head for the pantry and your suspicions are confirmed when you open the door and find Amanda inside, pulling on the hem of your t-shirt. Her cheeks are flushed in utter humiliation and her knotted hair can't hide the fact that you two have just had mind-blowing sex. You wonder if your appearance also made that fact obvious, and your kids were just too polite or too grossed out to mention it.

"Where's my underwear?" She hisses.

"Uh…" You scratch the back of your neck. "I don't think you want them back."

"Nick, the kids are home. You can't expect me to walk out of here without my panties," she says bluntly, getting really close to your face to make her point. "Find them."

"I know where they are," you trail off, smiling sheepishly when you notice the cross look on your wife's face. "I just don't think you'd want them back after knowing where they've been… and who's touched them."

You don't even have time to dodge or brace yourself before your wife jabs you with a box of mac and cheese right in the center of your forehead.


	12. Swipe Right

_**AN**: Hello! Sorry, it's been a while since my last Good Cop, Bad Cop update. I've been on vacation and spent a lot of time traveling and being without my laptop for several weeks. I did manage to update the two other fics I'm working on: **Ruined Beyond Redemption** (a second person account of Nick's journey post-Amaro's-One-Eighty) and **Save Room** (an AU fic where Barba is Nick's dad and Benson is Amanda's mom). Please check those out if you have the time since those fics have a pretty decent amount of Rollaro._

_I just want to say thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter 11, and I hope you enjoy this one-shot just as much as you did the last._

_Read, enjoy, and review!_

* * *

John Munch knew it was a terrible idea right from the beginning. And now he had the experience, or lack thereof, to prove that his reservations were warranted and that online dating was an exercise in futility.

It had taken months of pleading for Monica, the sassy sweetheart of a secretary at the District Attorney's office, to convince him to register an account with a popular dating service. She was eager to find him one successful wife; and if a fifth wife were in the cards for him then that would just be a perk, or a punishment depending on one's outlook. As one-half of a success story of online dating, Monica felt like it was her personal mission to play matchmaker for cynics like Munch. So, she introduced him to the agent of change in her love life – Tinder.

True to form, Munch refused to enter his personal information into, what he referred to as, an NSA tracking device; otherwise known as a cellular phone. But with persistent prompting and a sweet smile he could hardly resist, he tweaked his information, deliberately misspelled his name, and shared a picture of himself from the late seventies. Monica educated him on the deceptively simple procedure of swiping left to express one's displeasure and swiping right to express a more tech-savvy rendition of the caveman's "hubba, hubba."

After several missed swipes because of decades of being accustomed to flipping pages to the left, Munch finally got the hang of it. And soon enough, when he wasn't assigned to do the job he was hired for, he was validating the appearance of the opposite sex right from the comfort and safety of his very own office. Besides the flagrant violations in civil liberties, he had a bit of a problem with the idea that he was contributing to a system that exalted narcissism and vanity. But…it was _so _addicting.

Eventually, after what seemed like hundreds of swipes, a date was arranged. The woman, a self-proclaimed natural redhead with freckles across her nose and brilliant blue eyes, was a resident of Suffolk County. She agreed to meet with him close to her home in Mastic Beach, because she couldn't just maroon her ten-year-old daughter in their home with her teenage sitter for longer than four hours. That should have been his first red flag. Don't date anyone who was more paranoid than him. But she was also divorced, and Munch had some experience in that department; so that's at least one thing they had in common they could discuss over dinner and drinks.

Unfortunately, as time passed and the sky darkened to dusk, it seemed the likelihood of dinner and drinks turned into a delusion. His date stood him up.

Maybe she walked into the seafood restaurant she had chosen, scanned the room and saw the man in the picture had aged a hundred years; so maybe she decided to quit while she was ahead. Maybe she was intimidated by the flowery abstract he wrote on his profile and she decided she was not worthy of a man like John Munch. He wasn't a gambling man, but he would place his bets on the former rather than the latter.

The restaurant overlooked the water and the afterglow of the sun just before nightfall. The whole scene reminded him of Baltimore, only without the shipyards, murky waters, and the symphony of gunshots. It was a shame he couldn't stay to enjoy the view, the serenade of the violins, and the scrumptious scents flowing from the kitchen. As disappointed as he was about his date's absence, Munch was surprisingly more disgruntled by the waste of time and gas. He debated whether he should stay and order some food or skip dinner altogether, lest he appear even more rejected than he had been in the last hour. The bartender was pouting her lips and casting him these looks of pity, like she had been taking classes at Olivia Benson's School for Empathy.

Nursing his scotch, he lifted the drink to his lips and polished it off. Ready to call it a night, he got off the barstool and set his hat on his head. As he started for the exit, a familiar Southern drawl caught his attention. His eyes narrowed before he slowly spun on his heels. Whatever it was – the voice was coming from out on the balcony; so he had to maneuver his way towards the back of the restaurant to answer the question mulling in his head. French doors were open wide and sheer curtains were billowing in the breeze. It was difficult to make them out, but he saw a woman, with wavy blonde hair pulled back into a loose bun; and she was seated in a table for two.

Abandoning his plan of driving back to the city and saving face, he took a few more steps towards the balcony until he reached the French doors. He peered over the corner and a mischievous grin spread across his face. Sure enough, the voice belonged to Amanda Rollins. And the man seated across from her, with his hand enveloped over hers, was none other than his favorite screw-up, Nick Amaro.

Craning his neck, he quietly observed as Amanda rested her head on her shoulder and Nick bashfully smiled at her. She had said something that made him blush; whatever it was, it was perhaps something best left out of the department's ears. They looked happy. In fact, Munch had to blink and squint his eyes to make sure the couple seated at the table weren't doppelgangers of his former co-workers. It was like a scene from an alternate universe where the usually embroiled and troubled pair was a normal, happy couple. Nick said something back to her and she looked out to the water, tucking a few tendrils of hair behind her ear. Munch saw the smile curl up on the corner of her lips and the flush of pink fan across her cheeks. They sat there, without words exchanged; and yet they were speaking volumes with those longing looks.

"You look beautiful," Nick said, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

Munch rolled his eyes and shook his head at the shameless display of affection. Not that it surprised him; he always had a sneaking suspicion that Nick and Amanda would eventually turn all that bickering into sexual chemistry. He recalled discussing it with Fin, comparing notes and drawing parallels with Benson and Stabler. Fin would just shake his head and say Nick wasn't Amanda's type. He was too clean-cut, too self-righteous, too tightly wound. And besides, they wanted to tear each other's head off at least once a week; so Fin was convinced it would never work out. However, if there was one thing Fin and Munch both agreed on it was that the odds of Amaro and Rollins hooking up were slimmer than the odds of Benson and Stabler. And since the latter, despite all the flirting and the palpable chemistry, had never materialized into anything besides 'what-ifs' and 'what-could-have-beens' then maybe Fin was right all along. Maybe Munch was just trying to find sexual tension between the younger pair of detectives when it was really just tension.

During his last few years at SVU, Munch had seen how the circumstances at the time were not favorable for the couple. Nick was committed to his marriage out of a sense of obligation to his own perceived perfection. Rollins was under heavy scrutiny after her extracurricular gambling activities came to the surface. Then there was that whole mess with her sister.

Still, Munch felt like his hunch was somewhat substantiated when Nick got arrested last year and it was Amanda who called him in to speak some sense to her wayward prince. Granted, she didn't use those exact words and kept it strictly platonic. It was still clear by the worry in her voice and the lingering looks they gave each other that there was something going on between them that went well beyond the boundaries of a professional relationship.

But, now, after seeing those two at the restaurant all lovey dovey, Munch felt like it reaffirmed his investigative skills since he was, after all, the first person to make the suggestion of a Rollins-Amaro pairing. People said there was no smoke without fire. And, in that moment, he was staring at the flames.

Tread carefully, he reminded himself. As sweet as they appeared, he surmised the reason they were having their date all the way out in Mastic Beach was to avoid running into anyone they knew. He read the fraternizing policies before and he knew that by keeping their relationship, Nick and Amanda were risking at least one of them getting transferred out. It was bad enough they were under IAB's microscope. But did those two think they were part of some Shakespearean tragedy or something?

If a shared death wish made Amaro and Rollins compatible then, by all means, more power to them.

Munch wasn't going to stand like a creep, spying on Nick and Amanda for the rest of the evening. He'd leave the spying to Big Brother. The night wasn't over so he figured he might as well make the most of his depressing situation by having fun with the newly discovered couple. A cheeky smile formed on his face as he thought of plausible scenarios that would make them feel uncomfortable. He took a step from behind the corner and walked casually down the balcony. Appearing fascinated by the restaurant's décor, he almost walked right by their table when Nick's eyes went from a loving gaze directed at Amanda to a look of sheer terror.

Stopping in his tracks, Munch turned on his heel and cocked his head to the side. "Well, hello, kids. Fancy meeting you here," he greeted, tipping his hat.

Amanda looked from Nick to Munch, trying to figure out if they had conspired to ambush her with this mean-spirited prank. But Nick appeared just as shell-shocked as she was.

Nick stood up and shook Munch's hand, but then the older man pulled him into a hug. "Uh hey," Nick said nervously, "what are you doing here?"

"Great to see you too, kid."

"Sorry, that's not what I meant," Nick quickly apologized, scratching the back of his neck. "Just wondering what you're doing all the way out here."

"I could ask you two the same thing," Munch replied.

"We were following up on a case," Amanda shot up, forcing a tight smile. "Drove up here to talk to a victim's family then decided to stop by for dinner. I told Amaro I was fine with McDonald's drive-thru, but he really wanted a lobster dinner."

Munch caught the icy glare Nick threw in her direction.

The excuse for choosing a fairly ritzy restaurant was dubious at best, and it also failed to explain for Amanda's slinky dress and high heels. Nevertheless, Munch decided to play it cool and appear unfazed by the whole thing. He nodded his head and pulled a chair from an unoccupied table. "I hope you two don't mind me joining your dinner then."

The couple exchanged a look before they both bowed their heads like two bobbledheaded dolls.

"Yeah, of course," said Amanda.

"It's not like this is a date or anything," Nick added, earning a deathly glare and a swift kick to the shin under the table.

Munch pressed his lips together to keep himself from breaking into a fit of laughter. "You two? On a date? It's more likely people question JFK's assassination and believe it was a giant cover-up before I can believe you two kids are dating."

Amanda exhaled in relief. "Right?" She cocked her head to the side and scrunched up her face as if the concept of Nick as her boyfriend was so unbelievable, and so… gross.

Nick chuckled nervously. "Yeah… that's crazy."

"So, what brings you here?" she asked Munch, shifting the questions away from the visibly uncomfortable pair.

"Unlike the two of you," Munch began, leaning back against his chair and settling into the conversation, "I was actually here for a date."

"Oh, you have a girlfriend?" Nick asked with genuine interest.

"Do you?" Munch countered.

Nick's eyes widened and his jaw slackened, unable to retrieve a clever comeback.

Munch slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, kid. Divorces are rough. Trust me, I've been there and every time, you think you've figured out how to maneuver around every type of marital problem; yet they'll always find a way to surprise you…" He trailed off, then finally added, "But you'll get back in the dating pool, Nick. Don't you worry."

"Uh, thanks?"

"Italian women," Munch sighed, shaking his head. "No one else can test your mental limits quite like them."

Nick furrowed his brows and was about to speak up when Amanda turned on the third degree for Munch.

"How long have you been seeing this woman?" she asked. Munch noticed the knot forming between her brows, revealing that hint of annoyance at the mention of Nick's ex-wife. He almost regretted bringing up the sore subject, but he was curious to see Amanda's reaction. The fact that it bothered her, bolstered his assumptions about the nature of their relationship.

"I haven't actually seen her yet," Munch admitted, laughing to himself and eliciting confused looks from the two. "We met on Tinder."

Nick choked back his wine and coughed. "You what?"

"You… on Tinder?" Amanda pressed her palms on the table, leaned forward, and studied the dead-serious look on Munch's face.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, I know those apps bleed you dry of your personal information and it's a voluntary submission of your civil liberties. But a woman I work with at the DA's office convinced me to sign up. Told me it's how she met the love of her life, or something like that. Anyway, next thing I know, I'm a madman swiping left and right until I finally receive an invitation for dinner."

"Nice." Nick nodded and held his fist out for a fist bump. Munch stared at his outstretched hand and raised an eyebrow, before turning back to Amanda.

"I didn't particularly enjoy driving all the way out here for a date, but she works at the Suffolk County courthouse so I gave up the home court advantage. And I figured anything would be better than another night at home alone watching the History Channel."

"Fair enough," Amanda replied, smirking back at him. "So where is your date?"

"Driving over the speed limit in the opposite direction?" Munch said with half a smile. "It was probably my fault for using a picture of myself from before you were born."

Amanda narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her body. "I should be disappointed that you deceived a woman like that."

"As if women have never posted misleading pictures before," Nick argued back, lifting his chin defiantly.

Munch spread his arms out to divide the couple. "Calm down, kids. Let's not start one of your epic battles in a public setting, all right?"

They stared back at each other, unblinking, to show off their dominance. Munch merely shrugged and continued to talk about his failed date.

"I should've known to swipe left when her profile said defense attorney. I must have been drunk at the time." Munch sighed then, with his palms against his chest and a wistful look in his eyes, he added, "But then she had me with the picture of her cuddling her Cocker Spaniel."

"Sorry to hear it didn't work out," said Nick, resting his chin on his hand and giving his mentor a weak smile.

Munch reached over the table and poured himself a glass of wine. He lifted it up for a toast. "To a life of loneliness in perpetuity; or as Beyoncé would say, to all the single ladies."

"All the single ladies." Amanda raised her glass.

Nick narrowed his eyes at them but finally just shrugged. "Cheers."

After Munch continued to ramble on about his experience with Tinder, his wariness of unlabeled black helicopters in the sky, and a historical lesson on government cover-ups, the waiter finally arrived with their first course. He set down a plate of oysters and a garden salad with vegetables and shaved truffles right from the restaurant's own organic garden. Being polite, they offered Munch first dibs on the food but he refused.

"Shellfish and the Jews don't mix… I guess, I probably should've told my date that before she picked a restaurant that specialized in all things un-kosher and unholy."

Amanda took a long swig from her glass of wine before she pushed the salad bowl towards Munch.

"No thanks, Amanda," he said, "I don't eat vegetables."

"Don't tell me. Another religious restriction?" She asked.

"No, I just don't believe in skipping a level down the food chain. I leave the vegetable supply in abundance to nourish my corned beef and pastrami."

Munch sat back with his glass of Pinot Noir and watched as Nick and Amanda half-heartedly ate the shellfish, as if Yahweh would smite them in their gentile asses for disobeying the laws of kosher. The intended aphrodisiac effects had been wasted now that he had crashed their date and told them oysters were ungodly creatures dressed up in a savory, but misleading, garlic butter sauce. Munch was beside himself with amusement.

Amanda pushed her fork around her salad as she impatiently tapped the sole of her foot. Like the martyr he was, Nick cast apologetic glances her way, taking the blame for Munch hijacking their date. It was then that Munch realized that taking her out to Mastic Beach on this romantic date was Nick's plan; and maybe it had even been a surprise. Amanda's reluctance suddenly became clear as day.

Once the waiter cleared their table and prepared them for their main course, Amanda excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she had been well out of earshot, Munch went in for the kill.

"So, how long have you been seeing Rollins?"

"What" Nick asked, his eyes wide and his mouth twisted in a shaky smile. "Uh, what makes you say that?"

"I've been a cop longer than you've been alive, kid. And I've suspected something was going on long before I received a call from her telling me you got yourself arrested."

"Uh…"

"Ok, ok, let me rephrase that question," said Munch, pushing his arms out with his palms down. "When did you start sleeping with Rollins? Because I assume that's how all this started."

"Munch, I – I…" Nick began, running his hands through his hair. "You won't say a word of this to the department?"

"Trust me, kid. I have your back. Besides, I can see you and Rollins are both keeping each other in check. I feel like breaking you apart and airing out your dirty laundry is going to do you more harm than good."

"Thanks, man. Really appreciate it."

After a few seconds of silence, Munch spoke up again. "So you and Rollins, huh?"

"Yeah…" Nick trailed off, lowering his head and smiling.

Munch punched him lightly in the arm. "That's my boy."

Nick cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow. Munch simply shrugged. "I thought it was the appropriate thing to say."

"Doesn't sound right coming from you," Nick chuckled.

"You still haven't answered my question," Munch said, shifting the conversation back around. "When did it start?"

"Uh… just after she went UC on that gambling operation with Murphy."

"That Vice sting?" Munch scratched the back of his ear as he thought back to about a year and a half ago. "Yeah, I remember that… So is she back on the GA wagon and staying away from the cards?"

"Yeah." Nick shrugged. "It's a work in progress but she's been diligent with her GA meetings and she's been talking to me and Fin whenever she's feeling restless."

"Good for her."

"She's been helping me too, making sure I stay out of trouble."

"So this is more than just sex for the two of you?" Munch asked, unafraid of beating around the bush.

"I – uh," Nick coughed, "I… Yeah, for me it is. We haven't really talked about it much but we're both taking this seriously. I mean, we've been doing this for over a year and it's not easy when you have to keep it a secret from everyone, but it's worth it. And the fact that she's stuck around tells me that it's more than just… sex."

"I'm happy for you, kid," Munch said with a genuine smile on his face. "Not that I ever doubted your dating life would end up in a slump like mine; at least not with a mug like that."

"Oh come on, so one date stood you up," Nick started. "There are plenty of women out there who'd be willing to date you."

"I didn't know what I was thinking trying to meet a woman through one of these contraptions," Munch joked, waving his phone around. "I think I'm going to stick to meeting women in bars and bar mitzvahs."

"So, uh, don't get me wrong, it's been nice running into you but you're not planning on sticking around for the rest of the evening, are you?"

"What?" Munch asked, "got something planned after dessert?"

"Do you really want to know?" Nick said in a deadpan tone.

"I'm a detective, of course I do." Munch pounded on his chest and nodded his head. "Besides, this is the most interesting piece of news I've had all week."

"Swear you won't tell a soul."

"Pinky promise," Munch mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Nick held his breath before he told him about his plans. "I rented out this room at a bed and breakfast just a couple of miles outside of town. I spoke to the owners and asked them to set up the room with candles and rose petals –"

"—And that crap woks on Rollins?"

"I know she doesn't seem like the type to be into romantic gestures; or at least that's what she's told me. But, trust me, it's never failed," Nick said, rubbing his hands together, unable to sit still. "Girls will pretend they hate it and roll their eyes, but they secretly love that sort of shit."

"Hmmm…" Munch stroked his chin and pondered it. "I could learn a thing or two from sentimental fools like you. First things first, I'll need to find a woman who understands that sarcasm is my love language… of course, she'll have to be a woman willing to sleep with me –"

"Hey y'all," Amanda said, returning back to the table. "What'd I miss?"

"Well, thank you for letting me crash this work dinner," Munch started, "but I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome."

"Wait. Where are you going?" Amanda asked, exchanging confused looks with Nick.

"It's way past my bedtime." Munch smiled reassuringly. "Besides, I think Casanova over here has something planned for you."

"What?"

"Munch," Nick warned, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. "You said you wouldn't say –"

Munch closed his mouth in a tight-lipped smile and pretended to screw it shut like a zipper with a key. He, then, tilted his head to the side and shrugged his shoulders. Placing the hat on his head, he whirled around and headed back into the restaurant. There was a spring in his step that had gone missing the moment he realized his date had stood him up, but now it had returned. That trace of first-date anxiety he felt earlier that evening had now been replaced by a genuine giddiness after seeing two young fools falling in love.

Maybe they hadn't realized it yet. But Munch recognized it when he saw it. After all, he had to have fallen in love four times to be divorced four times.

Once out of sight, Munch turned to a man dressed in a tuxedo and slipped him a twenty-dollar bill. "I have a request."

Standing a fair distance away, Munch watched as the tuxedoed man approached Nick and Amanda's table. Following his instructions, the violinist struck the first note with his bow and began to serenade the couple in Albinoni's Adagio in G-minor. A smile spread across his face as he watched Nick and Amanda share looks of mortification. They ducked their heads and hissed at each other like the squabbling children he remembered with back in the 1-6. Turning their heads towards the doors, they locked eyes with the man responsible.

Munch tipped his hat before he walked out to the sound of crickets and the scent of salt in the air. His date night may not have turned out the way he planned, but he was still in high spirits having managed to find a way to get the last laugh. He was curious to see if Amanda had chewed Nick out for revealing their relationship. And he wondered if Nick's supposed foolproof plan of romancing her would do the trick or fail miserably. But he decided to tuck the spy games away and let them live… for now.

He hopped into his car and started the engine. As he drove back to the city, a smile fell upon his face. He could make it back just in time before his favorite deli closed, order himself a Reuben sandwich, crash on his couch, and fall asleep to the History Channel. It would be a low-key way to cap off the night, but he couldn't imagine anything more perfect.


	13. Starting Lines

**AN: **_Thank you for the reviews for Swipe Right! As challenging as it was to write Munch, I'm happy to see that you responded positively and thought it was funny. Here's another one that I hope will make you laugh at least once. :) _

_This next one-shot was a request from **KBShipsRollaro** where Nick and Amanda are out one night and Olivia and/or Fin catch them kissing or holding hands. Italicized parts are flashbacks._

_Read, enjoy, and review._

* * *

"Still no sign of our perp."

Olivia sighed, leaning back against the uncomfortable seat in the back of their blacked out van. "And they've only got two acts left on the line-up."

Fin propped his chin on his hand, his eyes scanning idly over the feed from the surveillance cameras. Nothing of interest was shown in the grainy black and white footage; just a bunch of hipsters dressed in ridiculous outfits.

It was a Friday night – day one of three of Williamsburg's annual arts and music festival, and day one (of possibly three) of their stakeout. Special Victims was tasked to catch a serial rapist targeting young women with slender frames and blonde hair. So far, they had three victims who were drugged and raped in three separate incidents within the last five weeks. All his victims were attendees of the summer festival circuit.

When SVU received the calls on these cases, they hardly had any leads and, surprisingly, no witnesses even though the events were attended by thousands of people. However, when they pieced together the girls' spotty and repressed memories, the detectives determined that they were dealing with one MO and one rapist. According to their accounts, he lured them into the over-21 tents where they served liquor and surreptitiously slipped GHB into their drink.

His victims' next memories were waking up a few miles outside the festival grounds, usually in a grassy area or in the middle of a park. When they were picked up by EMS, the girls' clothes were torn, they had ligature marks on their wrists and ankles, and bruises consistent with sexual assault. There was no DNA and no sign of struggle, most likely because he had used a condom and raped them while they were unconscious.

Their latest vic, an 18-year-old incoming freshman at Hudson University couldn't remember a thing after she had slipped into the tent. A young, white male with brown hair and brown eyes offered to buy her a drink, which she accepted. Although the girl didn't have any visual or tactile recollection of her attack, she did recall the stench of grease and the loud buzz of a generator or an engine.

Olivia speculated that their assaults must have occurred in one of the food trucks. But at present time, the squad didn't have enough material evidence to question all the food vendors, especially when there were about fifty of them on average per festival. And most of those trucks were on the same circuit, having standing deals with the promoters who organized these festivals in the first place. He had access. He could provide an enclosed space for these rapes to occur. And he had the convenience of a getaway car to dispose of his victims.

They just needed to narrow down their suspects.

Coming in tonight, Olivia didn't really have high expectations of catching their doer since this was a much smaller festival in comparison to the others. Set in a paved parking lot turned weekend morning farmer's market, it didn't exactly attract well-known acts and large crowds. It was mostly just a community event featuring local artists and artisans. The festival had less than half of the concessions at other shows so the odds were stacked against their team to find this serial rapist.

"At this point, I'm just checking out all the blondes and seeing if some creep makes a move," Fin said, his voice laced with boredom but his eyes never veered away from the screen. "You know, there's a lot of these guys making moves on women, but nothing that would constitute as rape. Not even one grope."

Olivia arched a brow at her detective. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Hey, I just want to catch this motherfucker."

Fin rubbed his eyes and blinked several times to relieve his drowsiness. It had been a long week and they were all almost ready to head out for the weekend when Olivia got a call from upstairs, saying the brass had arranged for a van for tonight's stakeout. Since Carisi had night school and Rollins and Amaro had disappeared at exactly five on the dot (something about walking her dog, and something about catching his son's baseball game), it left Olivia and Fin as default lookouts.

When Fin opened his eyes, he was startled by what was on the screen.

"Hey! I know that blonde!"

"Who?" Olivia's eyes followed his finger to the small square on the screen. She squinted her eyes and tapped his knee in gratitude when he maximized the window and dragged it to another screen. She fixed her eyes at the moving image, her jaw coming unhinged as she watched two of her detectives appear on the feed.

Nick and Amanda were standing in line at a taco truck. She was leaning against his chest, his arms protectively wrapped around her midsection. He was holding his head down, pressing his lips on her exposed left shoulder. It was obnoxiously affectionate to the point where it treaded the fine line between adorable and nauseating.

Olivia exchanged a surprised look with Fin before they swiftly turned their attention back at the feed, ignoring all the other squares (where nothing was happening anyway) to focus on the one camera.

Amanda burrowed her head between his neck and shoulder, and whispered something in his ear. A cheeky grin spread across his face, his head lowering slightly to kiss her tenderly.

"Damn." Fin smacked his palm against his forehead.

"Holy shit."

Fin turned to look at Olivia, pulling his head back and quietly chuckling.

She placed a hand over her mouth and looked away bashfully. She could hardly help her little blasphemous slip considering she had just witnessed shameless public displays of affection between two of her detectives. Not only that; it was something she never expected from either one of them, being quite familiar with how serious they were at work.

But Olivia couldn't say that she was totally surprised to see the two of them together. She had suspected awhile that Nick and Amanda were in some sort of pseudo-relationship or, at the very least, sleeping with each other. She just thought it was in everyone's best interest not to say anything about it because she didn't want IAB involved, forcing her into a custody battle to choose which detective she wanted to keep on her squad. That, and she didn't want her bosses to think that, upon her promotion, she was way in over her head commanding her team.

"Come on, Liv. Don't act so surprised," Fin said. "You know Amaro's been boning her this whole time."

Ignoring his crude word choice, she cocked her head to the side and asked him, "How long have you known?"

"I suspected something was going on after they had that blow-up in the cribs."

"After she found out Nick went to that AA meeting and spied on her boyfriend?"

Fin nodded.

"Same," Olivia said, leaning forward to scrutinize the couple's interactions. They looked comfortable, perhaps even loving – a far cry from those days of tension and discord.

"But when did you really know for sure?" Fin asked.

She removed her glasses and set them on the small table. She pondered the question and tried to recall that summer day when she came to the definite conclusion that Nick and Amanda were, as Fin termed in such evocative language, 'boning'.

* * *

_It was early August and the city was rife with tourists. Every other second, the precinct phones were ringing about some handsy street performer in Times Square, or a jogger exposing himself to girls armed with selfie sticks (it didn't end well for the jogger). The squad was busy and terribly understaffed with Nick stuck working the beat as a traffic cop. As much as Olivia needed him back on the team, she still didn't have IAB's stamp of approval. And that didn't really work in her favor because she hardly had a shred of patience remaining for Nick's incessant whining about his demotion._

_Although it sucked for him to be bumped down the ladder, Nick scored with a consistent nine to five schedule that was the envy of any detective working for the NYPD. Especially Olivia, considering she had just fostered Noah and she wanted to spend every waking moment with her little man._

_What started out as a favor one night, when Lucy couldn't stay over, turned into an unspoken agreement that Nick would watch Noah on nights Olivia was working a case. It was half past six; she just let Lucy go home when she got a call regarding two underage girls who were sexually assaulted at a boutique hotel in Greenwich Village. She swung by Nick's place to drop her son off, forgetting to call him and ask if it was ok until she was two minutes from his doorstep._

_And of course, he said yes._

_"Oye, mano!" Nick opened the door, greeting his two visitors. He picked up Noah from her arms and swung him around much to the baby's delight. Noah giggled as tried to reach for his Uncle Nick's nose until, finally, Nick blew a raspberry onto his little belly._

_Olivia watched the playful interaction between her child and her former partner, warmth filling up her heart. But she didn't have much time for pleasantries because she needed to meet with Fin and Rollins. But she also couldn't leave until she made absolutely sure that Nick's place was baby-proofed._

_The moment she stepped into his house, panic started to slowly rise in her chest. Nick always teased her and said she had nothing to worry about, pointing to the fact that Zara grew up in that house and she had turned out fine._

_"Except that one time she thought she was Spiderman and she climbed up the shelf. Jumped off from about six feet off the ground and broke her arm. Had a cast for a month." Nick shook his head with a chuckle._

_When he told her that story weeks ago, it only triggered the alarms to blare louder and flash brighter. Looking around the living room, she started scoping for potential hazards for her baby._

_Preoccupied with the baby, Nick bounced him up and down and led him into Zara's room, where all the toys were kept and where he had set up her old crib. Knowing firsthand the erratic schedule of a detective, he knew that Olivia needed all the help she could get when it came to caring for Noah. So Nick was always ready whenever she needed him for nanny duty; he figured he could use the opportunity to ask her about coming back to the squad._

_Olivia chewed on her lip as the boys disappeared down the hall and into the pink and purple bedroom. She looked around the living room and her eyes were zeroing in on sharp corners, uncovered electrical sockets, and choking hazards. Pressing a hand to her rapidly beating heart, she started retrieving small items from the floor and tables and putting them high up on the shelf, praying silently that Noah wouldn't get an urge to climb furniture like Zara. Then she moved two dining chairs in front of open sockets to make it a little more challenging for Noah to potentially stick his fingers into one of them. Crouching down beside the couch, she reached down to see if she missed any small toys or office supplies, or some broken pieces of plastic._

_Pushing her arm into the dark void, her fingers felt around the carpet until something silky brushed against her skin. She trailed her fingertips over the shape of the object, feeling the curve of something thin yet rigid – like a wire. Slowly, she pulled it out from under the couch. Her eyes widened when she saw it was a bra._

_Sky blue satin trimmed with white lace and a tiny ribbon sewn between the two cups. These were smaller than her cup size – maybe a B but no bigger than a C. Pulling it out the rest of the way, she felt it tug onto something. Narrowing her eyes, she noticed that the clasp had hooked onto peach-colored fabric. As she retrieved the rest of the garment, she realized it was a sheer blouse. And as Olivia stretched it out, she instantly recognized the silk chiffon bow draped along the neckline._

_Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped._

_Hurriedly shoving the evidence under the couch, she stood up just in time to see Nick turn the corner. He had Noah resting on his hip; the baby alternating between squeezing a little stuffed puppy and bopping it on the side of Nick's head._

_"Uh…" he looked around the room, his brows knitting in confusion. "I see you've rearranged my furniture."_

_"Sockets," explained Olivia; his little nod indicating that he followed but he didn't necessarily understand. "Well, I better go." She crossed the room to press a lingering kiss on Noah's head. She held his cheeks between her hands and gave him a wistful smile, which he (and stuffed puppy) returned with a bop on the nose._

_"Goooooo," Nick groaned, rolling his eyes._

_"Thanks again for doing this, Nick." She bowed her head and gave him a soft smile. At this, the corner of his lips curled up even further to reveal a pair of dimples._

_"Anytime," he said, sitting down on the armrest of the couch and letting Noah bounce on his thigh. "Except tomorrow night." He grinned mischievously then added, "I've got plans."_

_Olivia froze. She knew exactly what he meant by that and now the obscene image of Nick and Amanda started to intrude her brain. She reached for the door and eagerly stepped out to welcome the warm summer air. Now, all she had to worry about was keeping a straight face when she met up with the blonde detective._

* * *

Fin laughed, wiping the corner of his eyes with his thumb; he tried to dial it back down but the laughs just kept on coming.

"Man," he said, shaking his head. "And you never told Nick what you found?"

"Knowing he wanted to return to the squad, I didn't want to complicate things by telling him I knew about their relationship," Olivia explained. "Otherwise, I'd be obligated to disclose that information to IA."

"Fair enough." Fin shrugged, shaking his head one more time before turning his attention back to the screen.

There was still no sign of their serial rapist. But at least they found something else to make up for the unsuccessful search.

Nick and Amanda had gotten their tacos and sat on a bench; Amanda's leg tucked underneath her as her body shifted toward Nick and she offered him a bite of her food. Suddenly, he took a large bite and chewed with an impish grin. She scrunched up her face, trying to reach for his taco. Twisting his body away from her, he held it out in his outstretched arms and laughed while Amanda struggled to reach for it.

"These two are going to make me throw up," Olivia groaned, just a hint of amusement laced in her voice. Even if it was pretty gross seeing Nick and Amanda act like two lovesick teenagers, there was something heartwarming about seeing them happy. After the hell they've been through in the last couple of years, they deserved that happiness.

"Speaking of throwing up," Fin said. "I gotta tell you how I found out they were doing the nasty."

Olivia's ears perked up. She rested her elbows on the table and cradled her cheek in her hands, ready to listen to Fin's story.

"Don't get too excited, baby girl. This doesn't end well."

* * *

_It was the end of another grueling week and everyone just wrapped up on the reports on the Clare Wilson case. The sergeant left early to spend some quality time with her little man and Nick drove down to D.C. to repair that seemingly irreparable marriage. Fin always thought Nick's decision came out of nowhere, but he shrugged it off, thinking it was just some impulsive need to get his life back on track after he shot that kid. Still, it was none of his business. What concerned him though was the fact that his partner was looking down and out for someone who had the next two days off._

_Fin invited Amanda out to Moran's so she could take the edge off. He was on his second beer when she was on her sixth shot of tequila. At that rate, she would have finished the entire bar's supply of Jose Cuervo by last call._

_He knew that she was really hurting just going by her drink of choice. One time when they were at another cop bar, Amanda refused to drink the amber liquid, calling it the devil's piss. She then admitted why she vowed to stay away from the stuff. Apparently, when she was in college, she and her roommate got drunk on cheap, off-brand tequila and started dancing in the common room. When she felt like no one was paying her enough attention, she climbed on top of the Ping-Pong table to make her announcement. But the table ended up folding over and sending her face first to the floor._

_In any case, Fin figured out that when Amanda knocked on the bar and asked for tequila, she was in the mood to drown her sorrows with reckless behavior. Normally, he didn't judge; but this was a cop bar and he didn't want word to spread around the department that his partner was a little crazy. Better that he was around to keep an eye on her than have her do this by herself. He couldn't help but let his protective side out that night; especially after Amaro aired his suspicions about Rollins having a problem. At the time, he didn't think much of it, but seeing her so bitter at the world definitely made him think differently._

_As the night wore on, Amanda was starting to break down those walls she carefully constructed around herself. Now that she had some liquid courage in her, it, ironically enough, made her reveal more of her vulnerabilities._

_"I hate men."_

_Fin reared his head back and narrowed his eyes. Her face was scrunched up as she scratched her neck._

_"What about me?" Fin's hand flew to his chest as if he had taken offense to her statement._

_She gave him a tight smile, resting her forearms on the bar. Cocking her head to the side to face him, she said, "You're the exception to the rule."_

_He shrugged, ready to change the subject since he assumed that was the end of their discussion. It sounded like she wasn't interested in explaining further. But Amanda let out a heavy breath, downed another shot, and signaled the friendly bartender for a refill. He tried to flirt with her, but she just picked up her empty glass and shook it. When her glass was full and she had emptied the liquid into her stomach, she turned back toward him and began rambling. And once she started, there was no stopping her._

_"What kind of jerk sleeps with you, like, everyday for two straight weeks and then just up and decides to end things. No explanation! Just 'see you later, buddy' I'm going back to pretend to like my wife!"_

_Tilting his head to the side, Fin stroked his chin as he watched the animated expressions on his partner's face. At the mention of the wife, it suddenly became painfully clear who Amanda's mystery man was. She hadn't revealed his name but he was pretty damn sure that she was griping about Amaro._

_"And I know what you're thinking," she said, pointing a lazy finger at his chest. "I deserve to get dumped because I went after a married man… But he was separated! And he said it was over a year since he last screwed her so I thought he was fair game." Amanda pouted, looking down at the bottom of her glass. "But maybe this is my fault because when it all started - when I first invited him up to my apartment - I told him not to fall for me. I told him it was just sex."_

_Oh shit, Fin thought to himself._

_"He looked at me like a sad little puppy… You should've seen his face," she said, her bottom lip jutting out and quivering. "And then he agreed. Said that it wouldn't happen because it was just… release." She sighed._

_Fin dropped his head before he took a long swig of his beer. It was going to be a long night._

_"So we both agreed that it was just sex. But why am I this upset about him seeing his wife? Why am I acting like such a bitch baby right now?"_

_"I don't know, Amanda," Fin replied, scratching the back of his head. "Maybe you bit yourself in the ass when you told him not to catch feelings."_

_"But that was in the beginning," she whined. "Then we fucked… And, Fin, it was so fucking good. You have no idea."_

_"Yeah, I don't," he said immediately, eyes widening. "And I'd like to keep it that way."_

_Amanda stretched across the bar and hooked her fingers over the opposite edge. There was something subtly sensual about her movements, almost like a cat. A sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes and savored the naughty images clouding her mind. Fin snapped his fingers. Opening her eyes, she saw him shaking his head like a disappointed father._

_She propped her cheek on one hand, a sly smile fanning across her face._

_"He does this thing where he, um…" She held her index and middle fingers up and slowly poked her tongue between her lips._

_"Ok! That's enough," Fin interrupted, jumping off the stool. He helped Amanda off of her stool, but her heel got caught and she stumbled into his arms. "Let's get you home so you can, uh, take care of your situation."_

_Amanda giggled when she noticed Fin's eyes flicker below her waist._

_He helped his partner into her coat, coaxing her arms into the sleeves and draping her scarf around her neck. All the while, she continued to give him rather graphic details about her and "mystery man's" sex life._

_"I'm tellin' ya, Fin…" she trailed off, losing her dirty train of thought before she veered off to another track. "If it was really just sex then he wouldn't have stayed the night. He wouldn't have walked Frannie so I could sleep in. He wouldn't have made me breakfast…"_

_Fin shook his head. Conceivably, they had both agreed at the start that it was a purely physical relationship and they shouldn't get invested. It's not that he didn't think friends-with-benefits type relationships were impossible. It didn't always have to end messy if the terms were clear from the get-go and both people involved weren't the type to get intimate. He had his fair share of fuck buddies in the past, and they didn't all end in failure; so he definitely thought it was possible._

_Maybe before all this, he could imagine Amanda being ok with that sort of arrangement. But it would have never worked out as long as Nick was in the other half of the equation. Even if he didn't mean to make her fall for him, the guy wore his heart on his sleeve. The whole no-feelings thing was a cop out right from the start. If anyone was tailor-made for intimacy, it would be Nick; and Amanda was just too foolish to think otherwise._

_She chewed on her bottom lip, the hurt evident on her face._

_"What he did – ending things with you and crawling back to his wife – that was a dumbfuck move."_

_Amanda chuckled softly, lowering her head to give her partner a grateful smile._

_Fin held her by the small of her back and led her out of Moran's. They stood at the sidewalk and waited for a cab to come by. When he noticed the sheen of tears glistening in her eyes, he placed an arm around her shoulder, both to warm her up and comfort her. He squeezed and she leaned her head on his chest._

_"I'm so stupid."_

_"No, you're not," Fin assured her._

_"It was stupid of me to tell him not to get attached," she said, blowing out a puff of cold smoke._

_"Because, now, you're the one attached," Fin finished for her. "You like him, it's ok to admit that."_

_"I like him?" She blew into her cheeks as the weight of her developing feelings really, really dawned on her._

_Before Fin could react, Amanda hunched down and vomited on the curb, regurgitated alcohol and leftover pizza splashing on his brand new shoes._

_"Damn it, Rollins!"_

* * *

Olivia grimaced. "How long did she have to make it up to you before you forgave her for the shoes?"

"A week's worth of DD-5s and we were even."

"I can't believe Amanda's worst enemy is tequila," Olivia remarked, her mouth curling up into a mischievous smile. She wasn't actually going to use it against Amanda, but she liked hearing about the Ping-Pong table story. It reminded her that everyone in the squad had his or her share of embarrassing stories; and knowing things about them, besides all the broken childhoods and the vices, made her feel like they were all really part of a family.

"Did she really say all those things about their sex life?" She crinkled her nose.

Fin shuddered. "There was probably more detail; I just wanted to wipe it all out."

Olivia pushed her arms off the table and sighed. "Well, this stakeout was a bust. Except for the part where I got video proof that two of my detectives are seeing each other outside of work."

"Call it a night?" Fin asked, leaning back against the chair and tilting his head toward his sergeant.

She nodded once.

"Unless…" Fin trailed off, a bright idea flashing in his head.

* * *

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Olivia asked, smoothing down her blouse. She already discarded the black blazer but she still felt overdressed among the young adults, who were roaming around in their cheeky denim shorts and crop tops.

"It's gonna be worth it, Liv."

Fin took his hand in hers and intertwined their fingers. She held onto him while one hand wrapped around the stick of their cotton candy. They walked down the path of the festival grounds, passing by the food trucks and a small gathering of people who marveled at the live-action art show. It was a man in a rainbow leotard trying to Houdini his way out of a fiberglass box. The flashing red timer said he had been trapped inside for four and a half hours, and the panic present in his face said it would be a while before he could make his miraculous escape.

Pulling a piece of cotton candy between her fingers, she brought it close to Fin's lips. He took it into his mouth and gave her a flirtatious smile, which she returned with a coy smile and a flutter of her lashes. There was still some fluff on the corner of his mouth so she went ahead and swiped it away with her thumb. Fin wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer, his dimples deepening as his smile grew wider.

When they turned back toward the path, they were met by the stunned faces of Nick and Amanda.

Fin was right. Those looks – the mouths gaping wide open, the knitted eyebrows, the eyes bulging out of their skulls; they were definitely worth it. And what made it all even sweeter than cotton candy was the fact that the cameras were still rolling, and they could replay this moment over and over. Olivia felt a strange flutter in her heart as she imagined playing it back to their future children. She mentally shook the thought out of her head, criticizing herself for thinking so far ahead for the, just now, outed couple. Was she actually rooting for them?

She linked her arm under Fin's elbow as they walked toward the younger pair.

Nick pointed at Olivia then at Fin, his words getting lodged in the back of his throat.

"You – you're together?" Amanda stammered out, her lip quivering as she tried to piece it all together in her head.

"Yeah," Olivia smirked, pressing her hand on Fin's chest and raising her eyebrow suggestively.

He winked right back at Olivia before he turned to Nick and Amanda, who both looked traumatized. "You thought it was just the two of you?"

"What?" Nick folded his arms over his chest and gave a nervous chuckle.

Amanda pointed at him and vigorously shook her head, her ponytail flying in all directions. "No! No! _No!_"

Olivia rolled her eyes and moved out of Fin's hold. "You two can stop pretending. We were on a stakeout and we saw you on the feed, engaging in some serious PDA."

"Liv, I can explain," Nick began, ready to defend his relationship if she was here to put an end to it.

She raised her hand and stopped him. "Don't worry. I'm not going to say anything. As far as I'm concerned, this never happened and I still have no idea that two of my detectives are breaking fraternizing policies." She cast a look at Fin and they both exchanged a knowing smile. "We just wanted to mess with you and see how you'd react."

Nick and Amanda both sighed in relief.

"Wait, so you're not really dating Fin?" Nick asked.

"And you're not with Liv?" Amanda stared at her partner.

"No!" Fin cried out, throwing his hands in the air. "You two dumbfucks deserve each other."


	14. Smoke And Fire

**AN: **_Thank you for the reviews for Starting Lines! I'm thrilled to hear that you found it funny, and I loved reading which lines made you laugh out loud. Please tell me in reviews which scenes brought you close to tears because that's honestly the best way to make my day. _

_This next one-shot is a request from **pasiphaeh** over at tumblr (two non-anon requests in a row?! what is happening?). In this fic, Nick and Amanda are in her apartment in their nightwear. Suddenly, there's a gas leak and as they evacuate, they awkwardly run into Carisi who was visiting someone in the same building. This is sort of a sequel to Don't Mean To Interrupt; but like all these GCBC one-shots, they can stand alone so no need to read that one to understand what's happening here. But hey, feel free to go back and read ch. 4 :)_

_As always, read, enjoy, and review._

* * *

Amanda Rollins turned the key into the lock and pushed her apartment door open. It took only one step before she found herself rooted in place. She wasn't startled by the fact that her boyfriend was over. He did have a key, and he made it a regular occurrence to come by on Wednesday evenings to walk her dog. They had this implicit agreement that when she had her GA meetings, he'd come over to walk Frannie just so she wouldn't have to go back and forth between boroughs. She never made him feel obligated to do it; he just offered. Part of it was because he missed having someone or something to take care of, and the other part was because he _kind of_ wanted to have a reason to spend the night.

But Amanda wasn't frozen at the doorway because of Nick Amaro's presence in her apartment. What startled her were the scents coming from the kitchen, the sound of Frank Sinatra crooning from the speakers, and the faint orange glow of candles on her dining table. Her hands flew over her mouth to quell the audible gasp.

Nick peered his head from behind the wall of her galley kitchen, a red and white check apron hanging from his neck.

"Crap," he muttered, rubbing his damp hands on the apron. "I wasn't expecting you for another twenty minutes." His eyes glanced briefly at his wristwatch.

"I left right after the shares." She gestured to the candles, the pair of wine glasses, and the origami napkins on the table. He must've been going for a fine dining experience when he attempted to fold them; but they looked a little too lopsided to be up to standard. "What's going on?"

He scratched the back of his head and smiled sheepishly. "Surprise?"

"For what?"

"No reason," he replied. "I just thought I'd surprise you with a nice, romantic evening." There was a trace of disappointment in his voice, his hands burrowing into the apron pocket. She had to admit, he looked pretty damn cute in it.

"It's not Valentine's Day." She crinkled her nose. "And it's not like we have an anniversary… I think." Her brows furrowed as she pondered the date of their anniversary. Would it be the the night they first had sex or would it be that one morning when they _kind of_ decided to put a label to their arrangement?

Nick's bottom lip jutted out at her reaction. "I just thought it'd be nice for a change if we did something other than order pizza and watch whatever's on your DVR."

"I thought you liked my reality shows."

He shrugged and twisted his mouth. "You know me. I don't like watching anything that's going to make me feel dumber –"

"- I never said you had to watch Real Housewives with me," she countered, pointing a finger at him. "Besides, I told you… it's a guilty pleasure," she said defensively, her teeth clenched and her eyes squinted.

"Look, I like hanging out on your couch and watching TV with you. But since we can't exactly go out and have a real date, I just thought it'd be nice to recreate that in your apartment," he explained. "If you're not into it… I can get rid of the candles and I can turn off the music and…" His eyes got wide and full of panic. "Don't go into your room!"

Amanda cocked her head to the side and looked at him with suspicion. "What's in my room?"

He paced across the hall and blocked her door. "Nothing."

Feeling like crap for making him feel bad, she sighed and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a soft and tender kiss. Her tongue skimmed the perimeter of his bottom lip before she pulled away, her breath ghosting over his skin. "You're sweet," she whispered, looking up at him from beneath her bangs. Spinning on her heel, she walked to the dining table and pulled out a chair. "So, what's for dinner?"

* * *

Nick brought out their dinner – baked sea bass on top of a minted fennel and radish salad. It was a recipe he found online; with all the steps laid out he figured he could nail it on the first try. That wasn't exactly the case as the fish turned out a little over and slightly on the dry and flaky side. The salad turned out fine though, but it was hard to mess up something he didn't have to cook. Too bad Amanda was never a really big fennel fan to begin with, so she mostly just shoved it around with her fork until Nick assured her she didn't have to finish it.

Humoring him, she told him everything was delicious between heavy sips of the wine he picked out for the occasion. She checked out the year of the bottle and it was even older than Nick. She swallowed hard and gave him a shaky smile. He really did go all out, the poor sap.

When they finished their meal, he went into the kitchen and pulled out a tray from the oven. In a ceramic ramekin, he had baked a chocolate molten lava cake (from a box mix, but he wouldn't admit that). He scooped some cool whip on top and garnished it with some chocolate shavings and fresh raspberries. He carried it out to the table and Amanda beamed when she saw the sweet dessert, her eyes glazing with excitement.

Nick gave her the honor of digging into it first. Pushing the spoon through the surface, she gaped as the liquid dark chocolate oozed out of the center. Taking a spoonful into her mouth, she closed her eyes and savored the bitter notes of cocoa and… Her mouth puckered as she forced herself to swallow.

"What's wrong?" Nick asked, immediately sensing her disapproval of his dessert.

"Salt," she said, pointing down at the cake. She took a long swig of her wine, emptying the glass before topping it up again. "You used salt instead of sugar."

"What? No I didn't!" He cried defensively, taking the spoon from her hand. He scooped up a mouthful and his face scrunched up when the chocolate hit his tongue. "But I used the sugar in the labeled container!"

Amanda slapped her forehead. "My bad," she copped out, tossing him an apologetic smile. "I accidentally filled the sugar container with salt and never bothered to fix it."

He lowered his head and slowly shook it.

"I'm sorry," she said, holding her hands up. "But you really should be tasting your food as you go."

His eyes swept over his failed attempt at a romantic dinner and his mouth bent into a crooked frown. Noticing the sad look on his face, Amanda felt pretty terrible for making him feel worse about his attempts. Besides walking Frannie and making sure her food and water bowl were filled, he went the extra mile and prepared this special evening for the two of them. Nick didn't have to do any of it but he did it anyway because that was just the kind of guy she was dating, sleeping with, _whatever you want to call it_.

Nick started to clear the plates as he rose from his seat, but Amanda got up and gently pushed his shoulder back down. Looking up at her with furrowed brows, he began to speak but she placed a finger over his lips. She drew her legs up and straddled his lap, resting her arms over his tense shoulders. He averted his eyes, disinterested in her pursuit to take the sting out of the situation. She wanted to nurse his wounded ego (and maybe nurse a few other things along with it). Her head lowered slightly so her lips could brush over his jaw, her fingers tugging on the soft jet-black waves on the back of his head.

"Amanda, you don't have to do this," he said, looking away and resting his arms out at his sides so he wouldn't touch her.

She leaned into his ear, her tongue slipping out to trace his earlobe. "But I want to." Tugging it between her teeth, she dug her hips on his, smiling into his ear when she heard him groan in response. "Come on, baby, this is why you planned this whole thing, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he breathed out when her mouth trailed down and latched onto his neck. His hands slowly crept up from her knees to her thighs. "But I wanted this for later… I wanted us to enjoy dinner first –" Her fingers interrupted his train of thought, slipping down to his chest and down to his abs where she squeezed his taut muscles. Hissing at the sensation, he continued, "I thought we could slowly build up to –" She ground her hips down, circling them around and feeling his hardening length through his slacks.

She tore away from him slightly and tilted her head to the side, her blue eyes wide and innocent. "Build up to what?"

Nick didn't even answer. He craned his neck up and connected his mouth with hers. There was nothing slow about the way his lips curved over hers and the way his tongue darted and lapped inside when she gasped in surprise. His hands slid under, cupping and squeezing her ass. He pulled her up, legs wrapping around his hips. He pushed her against the wall and attacked her mouth with ravenous kisses, which she returned with matching fervor. Her fingernails clawed the nape of his neck and down his shoulder blades, returning some of the ache she was feeling between her legs. She whined, digging her nails in, when his mouth left hers and he reared his head back to stare at her with a gaze that was more lustful than loving. Pushing her upper back against the wall, Amanda gained some leverage and practically impaled her center on his groin. Feeling him harden at her handiwork, her own desperation built up faster than wildfire.

_Fuck slow build-ups. _

Squeezing her ass until she was a squirming mess, Nick kissed her hard to muffle the throaty moan that escaped her lips. Keeping his mouth on hers and never breaking contact, he carried her into the bedroom and dropped her on the bed. Amanda's senses were filled with the heady scents of Nick's spicy aftershave and something that smelled strongly of rose. Her natural reaction was to lift her hips and press up against him.

Fluttering her eyes open, she saw the red rose petals all over fresh, white sheets. Quickly, she broke apart from his hungry mouth and got up on her elbows. Her eyes darted around the room, taking note of the roses, the burning incense, and the tea lights. From the corner of her eye, she saw the glint of silver on the nightstand, her breath hitching up her throat when she focused on the handcuffs. Her head slowly turned back to the man hovering over her body, her eyes pierced in his dark, carnal gaze.

Amanda went straight for the shirt; unbuttoning it in such a hurry that she was sure a couple of buttons had ripped right off. He pulled her blouse over her head and left a wake of kisses down her sternum. His palms kneaded into her breasts. Shutting her eyes tight, she gripped his biceps as his breath ghosted over the sheer lace covering her nipples. "Don't tease."

Nick pulled the bra down and took one hardened peak into his mouth, his tongue circling and teeth grazing, while his eyes never left hers. As soon as he stopped giving it attention and he observed the crimson flush across her cheeks, his mouth curled up into a devilish smirk.

Wanting nothing more than to show him who was in control, Amanda reached down to hold him with force. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and his jaw clenched. She bordered the line between pleasure and pain. "Please," he begged, looking up at her with those puppy dog eyes. She clicked her tongue and released him, and then she started working on getting him naked. While she worked on his belt, he slid her pants down her legs but got distracted by her black thong so her pants never went past her knees. His fingertips brushed over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh; her breathless gasps making her sound like she was fighting for air.

He stroked her through the thin fabric, feeling Amanda's heated arousal on his fingers. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss on her lips, and captured her moans. When he circled his thumb over her clit, she bucked into his hand and he chuckled into their kiss. "Am I making you wet?"

She bit into his bottom lip and stared him in the eye. "Shut up."

"Come on, tell me." He smirked, pulling her up from the bed so he could reach around and unclasp her bra. One hand stayed below her waist while the other cupped her breast. "Tell me I'm the one who gets you nice and wet."

She narrowed her eyes and tried to reach down to grab him. But he was too fast and he caught her wrists, pulling them up to stretch above her head. He rubbed himself against her, his mischievous eyes never leaving hers until she was panting and begging. "Fuck me."

"No," he shot back, driving his erection down between her legs. Her thong and his boxers were too much layers between them and she was growing fierce and impatient with all of his teasing. He coiled his hand tighter around on her wrists, while the other hand kneaded one of her breasts. "Tell me this turns you on," he crooned huskily, picking up a rose petal and gliding it over her pink nipple.

"Never." She tried to resist giving him that validation, but she couldn't help but feel aroused by the cool petal against her hot skin. He squinted his eyes and raised an eyebrow, but couldn't keep the serious face. Breaking out in a breathy laugh, he kissed his way down her stomach until he finally reached the place she felt the most need. He wanted to satiate her and make her grasp just how much he craved for her, but he wasn't going to let up until she admitted how much she secretly enjoyed all this romance and intimacy.

His lips lightly caressed her mound. Amanda tried to lift her hips, but he kept her down with his forearm. "Please," she implored, trapping his head between her legs. Nick laughed and scooted up, earning an unsatisfied whimper from her. "What do you want?" she whined, melting into an incoherent mess.

"You know what I want to hear."

"Fine. All your romantic crap worked on me," she admitted, pushing his head lower and hoisting her hips. Nick smiled with amusement and wiggled his eyebrows. She rolled her eyes and nudged his cheek with her thigh. "You happy now?"

He tilted his head to the side and bit down on his lip. Then without warning, he dove in, making her arch her back off the bed. His mouth on her core was on fire.

But not_ literally_, she thought to herself as the fire alarm went off. Nick's head perked up as he gave her a look of worry and confusion. She patted his shoulders, telling him to continue but he got up on his elbows and pointed up to the blinking smoke alarm on the ceiling. "No, it's probably just a false alarm." She brushed it off, wanting him to continue the pleasure he was inflicting on her with his very skilled tongue.

He shook his head. "I don't think so," he said, pointing his thumb over to the wall she shared with her neighbors. There was a commotion and a slam of the door. Upstairs, they heard the shuffle of footsteps.

"Y'all have got be kidding me."

* * *

Standing out on the sidewalk with the other tenants of the building, they waited for the fire department to check what had caused the alarm to go off. Nick stood behind Amanda and made sure he was close enough to adjust himself through his sweats without anyone noticing. He couldn't decide which was worse – the blue balls or someone assuming he was getting a hard-on for the firefighters.

His eyes swept over his girlfriend and he quickly realized that looking at her only made his situation a lot _harder_ to control. In their haste to get dressed, she reached for his button down shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. Practically swimming in his shirt, it was hard to tell she was even wearing anything underneath, and that made her so much more irresistible.

Amanda looked over her shoulder and tossed him a puzzled look, which he returned with a shy smile. After a while, she was talking to her neighbor who lived across the hall. Apparently some idiot forgot to turn off the stove, causing a gas leak; and now the firefighters had to check the apartment and the rest of the building for carbon monoxide levels before letting people back in.

The fire chief ran down the front steps and with a booming voice he called out, "We need to speak to the resident in 307."

Everyone in the crowd started whispering amongst each other. Nick furrowed his brows at Amanda, "You know this person?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

A woman who looked to be in her early thirties stepped up and walked toward the chief. "I don't understand," she said. "I just came home from work. I haven't been in my apartment all day."

"Ma'am, were you aware that you left your gas burner on?"

"No, there's no way," she cried defensively. "I've been gone all day. I work two jobs and I haven't been home since six this morning. I don't even remember the last time I cooked something at home." The woman appeared genuinely worried and confused; but most of her neighbors looked pissed that she would do something so careless. No one seemed to believe her story that she couldn't be held accountable for the gas leak.

"Wait, excuse me," said a voice with a thick Staten Island accent. Nick's ears perked up as he instantly recognized that voice. And when he saw the familiar face pop out of the crowd and saw that it belonged to Sonny Carisi, he didn't know if he should've felt pleased with himself for guessing correctly or dismayed by his shit luck. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he exchanged a look of horror with Amanda.

_Not again._

* * *

They were at the back of the crowd, watching Carisi's back as he explained to the fire chief that he didn't mean to leave the stove on. No one ever really _means to_ do it; but the point was that he did. "I just wanted to surprise my girlfriend, sir."

The woman looked at him with wide eyes. "We've gone out on two dates and I lent you my key because you offered to feed my cockatoo." Nick buried his face in Amanda's hair to stifle the laugh. The woman continued her rant, using a whole lot of hand gestures to make her point. "I'm not your girlfriend!"

Carisi smiled sheepishly at the fire chief, who seemed indifferent to their relationship status. He explained that he wanted to surprise her by cooking dinner, but then he got distracted by the six o'clock news and forgot to turn off the stove. In the middle of the weather report, he fell asleep and the next thing he knew, he was woken up by a blaring smoke alarm.

"I had no idea," he said apologetically.

But the petite woman, with the cockatoo for a pet, wasn't hearing any of it. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him with daggers for eyes. "You just embarrassed me in front of all my neighbors."

"I'm so sorry, Maggie."

"Don't!" She held her hand up to his face.

Amanda glanced up to look at Nick, nudging him on the arm. He was biting down on his bottom lip, trying his best to suppress the giggles. Coiling her fist into his white tee, she pressed up against him and buried her laughs on the curve of his shoulder. "Oh my god. I can't watch… Too much secondhand embarrassment… Just tell me when it's over."

Nick wrapped his arms around her waist and looked over her shoulder to watch the fire chief reprimand Carisi, giving him common sense reminders about fire and gas safety. Letting him off with a warning, Carisi thanked him for his service and promised not to ever do it again. He turned to the woman he was planning to surprise but she just gave him the evil eye.

"I want my spare key back." She held her palm out.

Carisi pulled it out of his jeans pocket and handed it to her.

"And I never want to see you again. If I see you within a hundred feet of my apartment, I'm calling the police."

"But I _am_ the police –" he protested.

She turned on her heel and walked back into the building as the firefighters had given them the go-ahead that it was safe. As the crowd dispersed back into the building, Carisi received dirty looks from the tenants who walked past him. A man was grumbling about how the building should have stricter policies about letting visitors inside. "You never know what kind of crazy you're invitin' back to your apartment. These days, you never know who's capable of burnin' down a building."

Poor Carisi was bearing the brunt of it. Nick wasn't calling his colleague stupid; the guy had actually proven himself to be quite integral to their team. In that instance, he felt a little sorry for him because everyone had their bonehead moments, but most were lucky not to have the FDNY show up for it. But he had to admit; it took a special kind of dumbass to leave a gas stove burning.

Nick looked down at Amanda, who still had her face buried in the crook of his shoulder. "I think it's over. She left him standing outside."

She peered up at him, her eyes dancing playfully. "I can't wait to tell Fin about this. He is going to bust his balls laughing so ha –"

"Hey!"

Nick's eyes bugged out of his skull and he quickly extracted himself from Amanda's arms. He straightened himself out as Carisi approached them waving his arm in the air. Amanda lowered her head, muttering to herself repeatedly, "I don't know you, I don't know you, I don't know you." Now she really knew what it felt to be that resident in 307.

"What are you guys doing here?" Carisi smiled broadly, looking them up and down in their sleepwear. In fact, Carisi noticed that Amanda was wearing the shirt Nick wore to work earlier that day. He cocked his head to the side and threw them an impish smirk. "This thing still happening?" His fingers wagged between them. "Ah, that's great! I never know with you two…. Fighting in the cribs one day, and then making googly eyes at each other the next. You guys keep me on my toes."

Amanda turned to Nick with fear in her eyes, begging him for rescue.

"Uh, Amanda lives in this building," Nick answered simply. She smacked him on the chest and glared at him.

"No kiddin'?" Carisi said in surprise. "My girlfriend… well, ex-girlfriend lives here."

"Yeah, we kinda heard," Amanda said, giving him a tight smile. "Well, we better get inside," she said, dragging Nick by the arm. She really didn't want her neighbors finding out that she was linked to the guilty party.

"Um, sure," Carisi replied. He patted down his pants and his shirt pocket and then groaned rather loudly.

Nick doubled back and furrowed his brows. "What's wrong, man?"

"I just remembered that I left my wallet, phone, and keys at Maggie's apartment. I can't get home without 'em."

"All right, just knock on her door and ask her," Nick replied.

"Man, I can't do that," he said, running his hands through his hair. "You heard her. She said she never wanted to see me again."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "I'm going to take care of this. You can wait up at my place," she said, before she locked eyes with her boyfriend. "Make sure he doesn't touch anything."

* * *

Following Nick upstairs, Carisi entered the apartment and immediately took note of the fancy spread on the dining table. Whatever was going on tonight warranted some nice china and silverware; and there was even a ramekin containing a barely eaten but delicious-looking chocolate cake. His mouth watered just gazing at the shiny, liquid confection. His stomach grumbled as he realized he, himself, hadn't eaten dinner because he had slept through the cooking process.

Carisi observed that Nick looked extremely comfortable in the space, walking around barefoot in the apartment before crashing on the couch. Taking his shoes off, Carisi walked down the short hall and passed by the bedroom. The door was ajar so he could subtly peer inside to see some tea lights, rose petals, and discarded clothes all over the floor. He heard Nick clear his throat, and he looked up to see his colleague giving him a hard look.

Rising from the couch, Nick stepped past him to shut the bedroom door.

"So, uh, special night or something?" Carisi tried to start conversation. "Anniversary, maybe?"

Nick's eye twitched as his frown deepened.

"I think it's great what you two have," he said. "Like I told you before… when I first found out about you two," he chuckled as he remembered the night he overheard them having sex and the morning he walked in on them in the bathroom. "I'm not gonna tell on you guys. I like working with you two, so why am I gonna rat you out and risk one of you getting transferred out?"

"Thanks, I guess."

"No problem, man," Carisi said, punching him in the arm before sitting down on the dining table. He picked up the ramekin. "You mind?"

Nick took it from his hands and shook his head. "Actually, Amanda said she wanted to save some of it for tomorrow." Carisi looked a little disappointed, but shrugged it off. Walking into the kitchen, Nick placed saran wrap over it and placed it in the fridge.

When he walked out Carisi was looking through the shelves behind Amanda's couch. She didn't have a lot of pictures, and most of them were of Frannie, but he did stop to look at one picture of Nick and Amanda from earlier that summer.

"Wow, things must be getting serious if she's got a picture of you in her apartment."

Nick shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

"Yeah, I think it is," Carisi asserted, leaning against the back of the couch. "You must be doing something right to land a girl as smokin' as Rollins."

He arched a brow.

"Nah, she's like a sister, man. You don't have to worry –"

"I'm not worried." Nick crossed his arms over his puffed out chest.

Carisi shook his head and chuckled at the unnecessary display of machismo. "I'm not into her like that, but I'm a dude and I can still objectively say when a girl is hot." Nick didn't know how to feel about this. On one hand, he wanted him to stop talking about his girl; on the other hand, he sort of liked the endorsement and the ego boost. "So is it all this that's got her weak in the knees for you? The dinner, the rose petals?"

Nick lowered his head and smiled bashfully. "Yeah, I guess so."

Leaning toward him, Sonny gaped at Nick with expectation. "Help me out here, man. You gotta give me some tips."

* * *

Amanda walked down the hall with Sonny's wallet, phone, and keys in her hand. She couldn't wait to get back to her apartment, kick him to the curb, and finish what she started with Nick before they were so rudely _interrupted_ by another classic Carisi moment.

She couldn't help but let her mind wander; the parallels in their situation confounded her. Nick had set out to surprise her with a fancy dinner and some easy listening, while Carisi had planned to do the same thing for his 'girl'. And while Nick was really hard on himself for messing up dinner, he didn't fail to nearly the same degree as Carisi. Then there was that whole other matter of Carisi going back to his apartment alone; meanwhile, Amanda had no plans of letting her boyfriend leave her bed.

As she walked toward her apartment, she heard their voices echo through the walls. She stopped and pressed her ear to her door, listening to the two men's conversation.

"You can't go wrong with Sinatra, but some Louis Armstrong, Nat King Cole, and Sammy Davis Jr. should get the job done," Nick said.

"Dude, I gotta write this down," Sonny said excitedly. "What about flowers?"

"Man, some girls say they don't like receiving flowers because they just die anyway." Amanda nodded her head in agreement; she recalled telling him this piece of information long before they were even sleeping together. She listened and waited for the rest of her _oh-so_ insightful boyfriend's advice. "I say, surprise them with it once in a while. They secretly love that shit."

Amanda rolled her eyes and sighed. She couldn't believe what she was hearing (although he did sort of have a point; she did secretly enjoy those blue hydrangeas he sent on her birthday). But still, this was weird and wrong. Her boyfriend was doling out courting tips and recommending sexy time playlists to Carisi. It was like the blind leading the blind.

What was next? Sex tips? How to go down on a woman? Ok, fine. Maybe Nick was an A student when it came to that aspect of their relationship; but she still didn't want to hear him talking about their sex life with anyone, especially someone they both worked with. Just the thought of the two of them trading sex stories as if they were in the boys' locker room gave her hives. She scratched her neck and scrunched up her face. Shutting her eyes tight, her mind was bombarded with scenes of Carisi in provocative positions. "Oh god."

She used her arm to shield her eyes but the disturbing and pornographic thoughts kept coming. Her mind was picturing Carisi naked and kneeling behind her, that puckish grin turning up to reveal his dimples. She told herself to think about Nick instead, hoping that would do the trick of dissolving her other co-worker's nude form from her consciousness. But instead, both men flashed before her eyes. Nick on his knees opposite Carisi, his cocky smirk and arched brow teasing her to come closer; a kiss on her lips and a whispered command to get on all fours.

Shuddering at the thought and having had enough, Amanda burst through the door just in time to see Nick and Carisi exchanging a high five. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped as her worst nightmare materialized right there in her living room. She had to look down and pinch her fingers just to make sure she was standing there, and not on all fours with two dicks in close proximity to her orifices.

Nick cast her a look of concern. Carisi rand around the couch to take his stuff from her hands, reaching around to pull her into a hug. Amanda remained stiff as a board even when he lifted her off the ground in his embrace. "Thank you! You're a lifesaver, Rollins!"

She started ushering him out before he could say one more thing to potentially spoil her sex drive for the foreseeable future. If she was being honest with herself, she didn't even know if she could get over those images in her head in time to finish what she and Nick started in her bedroom. Carisi was slipping his shoes on, which was a little challenging when Amanda had him cornered up against the door. Once he had his shoes on, he looked over her shoulder and pointed to Nick. "Thanks for the tip!" he yelled, then he shook his head and laughed. "I mean 'tips'. You're the best, bro!"

The moment she closed the door to Carisi's shit-eating grin, Amanda could finally breathe.


	15. Tactical Village

**AN: **_Hey! It's been a while since my last GCBC update, and for that I'm sorry. But I'm back (sort of). School just started so that probably means updates will be fewer and far between, but I'll try my best to stay on top of both. I want to say thank you to everyone who reviewed Smoke and Fire. Carisi is great for comic relief and I say that in the nicest way possible (I enjoy his character, I swear). _

_To the guest reviewer who talked about the possibility of a rollaro baby - that's how I want them to write Kelli's pregnancy into the show. I doubt this will actually happen though, but it would be nice to have that door open for Danny's character to come back for at least an episode. If you want to talk more about this hit me up on twitter: ianasea. :)_

_This one was requested by an anon on tumblr who asked for Nick and Amanda both jealous of someone in each other's lives. Originally, I was going to have Nick jealous of Fin and Amanda's partnership but it kind of took on a life of it's own and Nick ended up being jealous of Amanda (because why wouldn't he be?). Also this story is sprinkled with Brooklyn Nine-Nine references, so if you're into that - YAY!_

_Read, enjoy, and review!_

* * *

"Hostage located in the south wing," Amaro reports through the radio strapped onto his shoulder. "There are three guards but I can take them down easy. Making my move."

"I'm backing you up," declares Carisi, running down the deserted corridor.

"No!" Amaro hisses, camping behind the corner and keeping an eye out for the perfect opportunity to shoot his weapon. "I got this. You need to stay there and keep a lookout so we have a clear path to make our escape." Two of the guards turn their backs and he sees that as his cue. He darts from behind the wall, entering the room and pulling the trigger twice. He fires them both square in the chest and they drop to the ground. The other guard spins on his heel and draws his gun at the sound of the commotion. But it's too late as Amaro catches him on the shoulder and then another round on the left side of his chest.

Running up to the hostage, Amaro takes a knife from his belt and cuts through the rope. He knows there's no time to waste trying to untie the knots. As soon as the victim is freed, he directs her to stick close behind him. He peers out of the room down the long stretch of hallway, but he only finds Carisi bounding toward them, his footsteps loud enough to signal their intrusion.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to keep a lookout!"

"You said three guards," Carisi says breathlessly, placing his hands on his knees. "You're outnumbered. Can't leave you without backup."

"I said I got it." Amaro sighs and points his gun at the three motionless guards on the floor.

"Oh…"

"We got to go." Amaro leads the way down the hall, the hostage sticking close to him with Carisi on their tail. There's noise coming from one of the rooms but they manage to get through without a hitch. The place is still surrounded. But they can escape in time if they make the right choice. "You came from the west side?" Amaro stops in his tracks and turns to Carisi.

His partner nods. "Coast was clear."

With a nod of his head, Amaro pushes through the double doors and runs down the other narrow, enclosed hallway toward the left exit. But as soon as he pushes it open, the alarm goes off. Snipers from a watchtower shoot straight at his center of mass. Five more shots ring out and they're done, red splattered all over their black vests.

The overhead lights turn on, the chatter resumes, and everyone who was previously on the ground stands up as if nothing had happened.

"Damn it!" Nick huffs, clenching his fist tight.

"Amaro and Carisi – incomplete," announces the training sergeant, Lieutenant Miller, from his post on the second level balcony. He looks up from the stopwatch in his hands. "You two had good time. Almost beat the course record there. Unfortunately, you failed to rescue your hostage and got yourselves killed in the process."

Amaro turns to Carisi and throws him a deathly glare. "We could've had the course record had you kept surveillance on the exits."

"You said three guards!" Carisi cries out defensively. "According to protocol, I have to assist you."

"Protocol can go fu –"

"All right boys, enough fighting." Lieutenant Miller shakes his head. As the two detectives begrudgingly return to the bench, he reads the next name on his clipboard. "Rollins and Tu-tu-olay, you're up."

"It's Tutuola," Fin corrects him with a roll of his eyes.

You know your partner and you know him well; he's not going to bite his tongue when someone butchers his name even if it's a tight wad who outranks him. Nudging him on the shoulder, he lifts his chin. "Ready to kill it, partner?"

You slap his hand. But before you go, you look up to see Olivia shaking her head in disappointment at the two detectives who failed to complete a hostage retrieval simulation. The exercise is relatively straightforward; any NYPD officer with at least five years experience can do it. In fact, you'd seen Nick complete a similar exercise last year with Olivia. But this year, he was determined to beat the course record like a kid trying to get the top score in an arcade game. He even had his target time on a post-it note stuck to his computer. _What a dork._

On the other side of the partnership, there's Carisi who was probably still reeling from an earlier exercise when the training sergeant called him out for not adhering to the proper instruction. He must've been set out to prove that he could follow protocol to a T, and that's probably why he advanced and acted as back up. In the end, their contrasting approach – Nick's unyielding thirst for victory and Carisi's desire to prove he'd read the manual – had led to their early and regrettable demise.

Hopping off the bleachers, you catch Nick's eye just as he's about to take a seat. You can't help but throw him a smug smirk. "Watch how the real rock stars do it."

You keep walking until you meet your partner at the table where they have the paint guns and vests ready for you. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you notice that Nick has his jaw clenched, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck. _Oh boy, is he pissed._

Well, he's in for a world of hurt because you're just getting started.

Several minutes later, after using up all your red paint ammunition and running into a series of narrow corridors to release the victim, you and Fin emerge out of the exit doors. It almost feels like a slow motion sequence in an action movie when the doors burst open and the bright lights hit your faces. You've already cleaned out the guards in this exit so you know you're on the home stretch. You're almost free. Running toward the red object ten feet away, you leap for it and celebrate inwardly at the resounding noise of the blow horn.

You breathe in relief, but all the adrenaline is still pumping through your veins. Fin drapes his arm across your shoulder and pulls you in for a side hug. "That was a hundred times better than playing COD with a guild of teenage boys screaming 'your mom' in my ear. You sure you don't want me to get you an Xbox, Amanda?"

Laughing, you smack him lightly on the chest. "I'm good, partner. You can't get me started on video games… addictive personality, remember?"

He pouts and looks at you with pleading eyes.

"Stop," you chuckle as he tightens his arm around your shoulder and swings you around. That's when you see Nick seated at the bleachers, his head lowered and his mouth twisted into a scowl. You knew he'd be jealous that you and Fin completed the simulation, and seeing him so envious of your success just makes you want to rub more salt on his fresh wounds. Yeah, you love the guy and he makes your insides turn to mush, but sometimes it's fun to go back and relive some of that competitive spirit and sexual tension that first ignited the spark between you two.

You wait for your time, your arm casually wrapped around Fin's waist. Nick knows you're not into your partner, but you can only imagine how much it's pissing him off to see you so touchy feely with Fin. He looks down at his hands, his fingers interlocked tight. He looks so broken you almost feel sorry for him, but you know he'll eventually get over it. "6:43," announces Lieutenant Miller. "That puts you in the top ten for time. Great job, Rollins and Tu-"

"-Tuola," Fin finishes for him.

You give him a high-five, a huge smile spreading across your face. This is awesome! You and Fin did way better than you expected, especially when you approached the training exercise methodically unlike Nick and Carisi who went in with guns blazing and zero communication.

"Congratulations!" Olivia hops off the bleachers to clap you both behind the back. "Now I know who I can trust to send first in a hostage situation."

"I would've saved her if Amaro hadn't gone all Serpico on me," Carisi complains.

Nick shoots him a hard look and crosses his arms over his chest. Boy, is he really taking this loss hard. To be fair, beating the course record is a _very_ personal goal of his. As far as you know, it was set a few months ago by his cousin, Amy Santiago, and her partner, Peralta, who works at the 99th Precinct in Brooklyn. Apparently, the competitiveness runs in their Cuban blood.

"I guess, since you two won you get the honor and privilege of not bringing anything to tonight's potluck," Olivia says.

"Wasn't planning on it anyway, sarge," Fin jokes, his mouth curling up to an impish smirk. Truth be told, you're not really looking forward to another one of Olivia's dinner parties. This is the second one in the span of a month (and you're seriously running out of cute dresses to wear). Ever since Noah was officially adopted, she's wanted to celebrate every milestone, so she invites people over just to hear him say 'mama' or watch him take a few precarious steps before he falls on his bum. Although it seems a little excessive, you have to admit it's nice having a reason to have the squad come together as a family.

"Sweet. I was just going to bring pizza and chips anyway, so it probably worked out for the best," you say, and you watch as Nick stands up and storms off. He really can't stand this and it's making you feel so alive. Part of you should feel guilty you're enjoying his jealousy way too much, but then you remember last year's Tactical Village and how pompous he was when he edged out your time in a foot chase. Being a track star in high school, getting beat by Nick by 0.6 of a second really hurt your ego. You were just glad your coach wasn't there to witness your downfall.

_Yes_, Olivia said something about these departmentally mandated training exercises being an effective team building experience; but really it's just another way for you and Nick to engage in some not-so-friendly and kind-of-unhealthy competition. You're both driven to win and you're also the sorest of losers, so Tactical Village day is both the best and the worst for your relationship.

* * *

"What's in that?" Fin points to the finger sandwiches on the table. You cock your head to the side and study the spread; it looks like cucumber with some strange gray spread. Knowing Olivia, it's probably pulverized mushrooms or goose liver or a strange combination of the two.

"I'd stay away from it," you say, reaching over to the bottle of red wine on the table. "More wine?"

He nods his head and you fill it to the top. Carisi pauses the riveting game of Kwazy Cupcakes on his phone and extends his glass for a refill.

Across the dining table, Nick and Olivia are preoccupied with the dinner preparations. When the oven sounds off, they discover the roast chicken is still under so they let it stay in there for a while longer until it isn't pink in the middle. While Olivia checks on the potatoes, Nick is tossing the salad into a wooden bowl and concocting his own blend of dressing, which, thankfully, he chooses to leave on the side.

Four hours after wiping the floor with his ego at Tactical Village, Nick seems to have cooled down. Of course, he hasn't spoken to you and he's mostly avoided looking in your general direction. So maybe he's still salty. But then again, you haven't really had a chance to talk because you ended up driving straight home from the training facilities in Brooklyn, while the rest of the squad took a detour at the 1-6.

You watch as Nick and Olivia work in the small kitchen. It's almost like a coordinated dance the way they maneuver around each other and pass random tools and objects. The surprising thing is Nick knows where everything is placed. When Olivia asks for the meat thermometer, he opens up a drawer and hands it to her. When she instructs him to place the potatoes on the blue serving dish, his arm reaches over her shoulder to get the requested dinner platter. No questions, no second-guessing, no bumping into each other – it's almost as if he knows her kitchen as well as yours.

The conversation between Fin and Carisi and the business in the kitchen are interrupted by the cries of a two-year-old. Olivia, who's already distressed about the undercooked chicken, sighs and wipes her hands on a tea towel. Ready to head into Noah's room to see what's wrong, she's stopped by Nick who places his hand on her arm. "I got the little guy. You know better than I do when the chicken's done."

She nods her head and Nick jogs down the hall into Noah's room. Moments later, the wails stop and the two boys join the rest of the dinner party. Cradling him against his hip, Nick coos at the toddler whose cheeks are bright red from his recent bout of crying. But now that he's settled, he has other things to preoccupy his attention. Noah places his tiny palms on Nick's cheeks and giggles when Nick makes popping noises with his mouth. The little guy wants all of Uncle Nick's attention, and he gets every single doting second of it.

_Yeah_, it's adorable and you know it's probably doing something strange to your ovaries watching your boyfriend act like such a dad. But there's a bitter taste rising up your throat and a knot forming in your stomach. You know what it is but it's hard to admit even to yourself. You know why it's there but you still can't fess up and face the facts.

_Admit it, Amanda_, you tell yourself. You're jealous of the fact that your secret boyfriend looks so comfortable playing man of the house at the Bensons' apartment.

Your eyes tell you that dinner must be amazing, but it's honestly really hard right now to stomach down all this food. Pushing your fork around the plate, you stay quiet and half-listen when Carisi mentions Olivia's age again. Usually, you'd make a quip about how he must like the taste of his foot in his mouth; but you just don't have it in you tonight. Fin is seated beside you - and _goodness_, you love him to death, but the way he's devouring his chicken and scraping off every bit of meat from the bones is making you feel queasy. But nothing makes you feel absolutely sick than when Olivia tells you about Noah's new milestone and how Nick discovered him stacking blocks all by himself the other day. They look at each other like proud momma and poppa and you feel air trapped in your lungs.

Placing the napkin on the table, you push off the chair and excuse yourself. "Sorry, I'm not feeling well. I think I'm going to head home early."

"Are you ok, Amanda?" Olivia asks with concern. "If you're not feeling well, you can lay down in my room until you feel better."

"No, it's fine… It's really not that bad," you say rather unconvincingly, but she doesn't argue. "Thanks for the dinner."

Ignoring the strange looks the rest of your squad is throwing at you, you head toward the door and pass by Noah who's in the middle of the living room, playing with his race car. You crouch down and ruffle his hair. "Bye buddy."

"Bye-bye," he closes and opens his hand.

You smile at him and cradle his cheek with your hand before you get up and head out the door. You're only halfway down the hall when you hear the door slam shut, and footsteps racing to meet you where you're standing.

Rolling your eyes, you turn around to face Nick. "What are you doing? You're being obvious."

"I don't care," he says, furrowing his brows in concern. "You're sick so I told them I'd make sure you got home safe." He shows you his car keys.

You chew on your lip. There's really no reason for him to skip out on the dinner party, because you aren't even sick in the first place. "I'm okay. I swear."

"You don't seem okay to me."

Ignoring him, you walk over to the elevator and press the down button. He stands beside you and tilts his head to force you to look him in the eye, but you turn away. Nick cups your face in his hands and looks at you with such intensity, you force your eyes closed.

"Babe…"

And that does you in. You relax in his hold, your eyes fluttering open to meet his loving gaze. If he was still jealous and angry over what happened in Tactical Village, then he wasn't showing it. He leans down to softly press his lips onto yours. It's comforting and reassuring and just what you need in order to tell him what's really going through your mind. _God_, why is he so good at this?

"What's bothering you?"

You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to look at him before he cracks you. It's probably not your finest moment, but you reach into the old grab bag of Amanda Rollins tricks and pull out the deflection card. "I should be asking what's bothering you." Narrowing your eyes, you poke him right on the chest. He looks at you with confusion, stepping backward with his mouth slightly agape. "All afternoon you've been such a drama queen about bombing that training exercise. You were so jealous of me and Fin."

Nick chuckles; his reaction surprising you. "Is this really what this is about?" he asks incredulously. "Yeah, I admit I was a little – no, a lot jealous. You know how much I wanted to beat that course record and shove it in Amy's face," he says with gritted teeth as he gets sidetracked. "When you completed it with Fin and made it to the top ten for time, I was mad that I wasn't a part of that. But honestly, babe, I was mostly upset with myself because I couldn't be happy for you… I mean, what's wrong with me?" He shakes his head, disappointed with himself. You want to reach over and console him and tell him it's ok; that feeling this way even towards someone you love and care for is totally normal as long as it's fleeting.

The elevator doors slide open and you step inside, Nick following closely behind. When the doors close, he envelops his hands around yours. "But I'm over it now. I was jealous then, but now I'm mostly just proud of the fact that I have such a kickass girlfriend."

A smile fans across your face and you feel your cheeks warm up.

"Now, tell me what's really going on?" he presses the question again.

You groan in annoyance. "I told you –"

"Amanda," he says sternly. "I know when you're hiding something."

"I'm fine!"

Nick presses the emergency stop button and the elevator jerks between the fourth and fifth floors. He keeps his dark eyes pierced on yours, his arms crossed over his puffed out chest. "You know how much I hate it when you tell me you're fine. I'd rather you tell me you hate me and aim a paintball gun at my crotch."

You stifle a laugh and his mouth quirks up into a smirk.

"Babe, please tell me."

Sighing, you pull his arms from his chest and allow them to wrap around your waist. If you're going to make this confession, you want him to be close and you want him to know just how much you appreciate him in spite of your somewhat irrational jealousy.

"I'm jealous of what you have up there with Liv and Noah."

"What?" He rears his head back and his jaw drops. "You know the situation. I'm their emergency contact. I – I'm his legal guardian in case, god forbid, something happens to her," he starts rambling, sounding panicked. "I offered to help out and she asked me to be around so her son could have a male presence in his life. I told you about this and you said you were cool with it."

"Nick, Nick," you say, pressing your palms up on his cheeks. "Calm down."

He breathes out. "Then why are you jealous? You know I love you."

You kiss him chastely and press your forehead against his before you part your lips. "I know, babe. And I love you too."

"Is it because I'm spending too much time with them?" He asks, panic rising again in his voice. _Damn it, Nick._ If he'd just let you speak. "I knew I was spreading myself too thin with my kids, Noah, work, and you…" He blinks hard. "Babe, I'm sorry if I've been neglecting you. I swear I didn't mean to –"

"—You're doing a great job with everyone, including me," you reassure him, smiling up at him. But your smile falters as you remember that you still have to tell him the real reason why you're feeling this way. You inhale deeply before sighing all the anxiety out of your chest. "I see you with Noah, Gil, and Zara and it makes me so happy to see you love them so much… That's not the problem. The real reason why I feel so weirdly jealous is because I'm scared that you've already done this before and you'll be too tired… that you won't be the same way when it's my turn... _our_ turn."

"Babe, what are you saying?"

"I'm going to have your baby."


	16. Grasshopper

**AN: **_Hello! Thank you for the reviews for Tactical Village. So many people asked for a sequel, so consider that added to the list of requests. I was thinking of maybe doing requests out of order from now on and publishing whatever I'm in the mood or have the inspiration to write. I still plan on getting through all of them, so don't worry. How does that sound? Thoughts? Concerns? Let me know. _

_This one is a request from AllForLenya who PMed me here on ff. She asked for a case-based fic in which Nick is sick and it clouds his thinking a bit. Amanda takes care of him, bits of mama-bear Olivia, but nothing too fluffy. I think I hit most of these, but the story kind of took a life of its own and I couldn't really find a place to fit in Olivia that much. Sorry! Also, just to warn my readers, this isn't fun and light-hearted like most of my other GCBC one-shots. Occasionally, things get serious. It really depends on my mood while I'm writing and, I guess, yesterday wasn't all sunshine and rainbows... I hope you still like it though. Please read, enjoy, and review!_

_And congratulations to Kelli on the new addition to their family! Yay!_

* * *

The case hits close to home for Nick Amaro.

He remembers growing up in a tight three-bedroom apartment in East Harlem, where the walls were paper-thin and the elevator smelled like piss. It was the kind of neighborhood where kids spent summer afternoons playing stickball out on the street. Home run balls cracking the windshields of lost tourists who don't know better than to parallel park their Chevy Astros on their makeshift ballpark. He remembers running to the Harlem River, a fresh pair of Reeboks on his feet all thanks to Papi's latest side venture. Leaning against the barricade, he recalls the breeze touching his face, kissing the shadows of his swollen right eye and busted lip.

Staring down at the photographic evidence, Nick sees the scrapes and bruises. His stomach twists in knots as he gains a vivid picture of where the fists landed and where the fingernails scratched the skin. The boy's eyes stare straight into the lens, appearing void of fear yet also void of hope.

"Nick, are you all right?" He feels a hand brush against his shoulder and he glances up to see his sergeant giving him a look of concern.

"Yeah… I'm fine," he replies lamely as he closes the manila folder over the case files. Her brow creases as if she doesn't believe him, but lets it go before she squeezes his shoulder. Once Olivia steps into her office, Nick opens the file again for the hundredth time in forty-six hours, and scans for any details he might have missed.

The boy's name is Jonah Fuentes. He's nine-years-old, a brother to a newborn baby sister, a third grader at P.S. 118, and a novice black belt at the Red Dragon School of Taekwondo. His file has a collection of statements from friends and family, describing Jonah as a promising student of the martial art; some even go so far as to say he's a prodigy. He has excellent form and a spotless sparring record. But most important to the art itself, the boy is described to have the mental fortitude and physical discipline that simply cannot be taught. No one gives him more praise and beams with more pride than his coach, Kurt Roper.

Even after Mr. and Mrs. Fuentes make the 911 call about their son's unexplained concussion and accuse the coach of abusing their son, Roper still maintains that Jonah is a gifted fighter. He claims to never have seen anyone progress through the ranks so quickly and embody the code that is so deeply entrenched in the philosophy of Taekwondo.

After speaking with Roper, Nick's intuition rang alarm bells and alerted him that something was off with the guy. He was charming and cooperative. He spoke highly of Jonah and his supportive parents, and assured that the concussion and allegations of abuse were all just a big misunderstanding. He was calm. Maybe too calm, in Nick's opinion. And Roper was also too eager to let the detectives know that regardless of the 'false claims' the Fuentes family were lobbing at him, he still welcomed Jonah back to his school.

Nick overhears the rest of the squad around the table, discussing the information they've gathered from the investigation.

"The problem is it's hard to prove Jonah's injuries were a result of abuse considering the nature of the sport," says Carisi.

Amanda walks up to the board and points to the pictures of fading purple marks on the boy's stomach, and scar tissue under his jaw that contrasts against the boy's tanned skin. "Aside from the concussion, his medical report indicates a history of bruising and small lacerations all over his body."

"But they could've all come from sparring practice," Fin challenges.

"Come on, guys," Amanda pleads her case. "No other kid in this school has these types of injuries. And besides, no one else has private, one-on-one lessons with Coach Roper besides Jonah."

"And that's because he's training the kid for national competitions, Rollins," Carisi argues. "Even if the private sessions sound sketchy, it still doesn't prove that all his injuries were a result of abuse."

Nick gets up from his desk ready to argue for the side that believes Roper is good for the crime, but the sudden movement stops him in place. There's a ringing in his ears and whirling white spots in front of his eyes. He pushes his arms against the table to brace himself and keep from falling in the middle of the bullpen. His chest tightens, and then a series of coughs forces out of his body. It's been two days since he's seen his bed and eaten a proper meal that didn't consist of salted pretzels and Explosivo. For a few intermittent hours, he allowed himself to crash in the cribs; but even then, sleep didn't come easy. He couldn't tell if the insomnia was from the dredged up memories as a result of the case, or from the mold and must in the room that he figured would eventually catch up to his immune system.

He senses a hand press against his back and rub soothing circles just below his shoulder blades. A soft southern voice stops the pounding in his ears. "You doing ok? You don't look too good."

"I – I'm fine." He swallows the lump in his throat. Reaching for the water bottle on his desk, he guzzles it down hoping that staying hydrated will be enough to combat the untimely illness.

"Maybe you should go home and get some rest," Amanda suggests, the sudden absence of her hand leaves him pining for that comfort. "We got this, Nick."

He leans in a little closer, but stops himself as he remembers where they are. "You heard Fin and Carisi. They're close to giving up… They actually believe the coach is innocent."

"They haven't given up. We just need to talk to more witnesses and look into Roper's past and I'm sure we'll find something." She looks deep into his eyes, surrounded by dark circles and telltale signs of sleepless nights. "You told me you had a gut feeling about this guy, and I trust you."

"You do?"

"Yeah," she says with a soft smile. Placing her hand on top of his desk, she slides it close to his. She looks around the busy squad room to make certain that no one has their eyes on them. Her pinky gently brushes up against his. It's only minute physical contact but it's their only saving grace in such a cold and grim space. "Now, go get some sleep at home... I know the cribs rivals the Four Seasons, but you can't just move in there without paying rent to the department."

Nick smiles and shakes his head at her attempt to lighten the mood. Looking over his shoulder, he takes a peek through the blinds in Olivia's office. "Wish me luck."

"I'm surprised she hasn't sent you home already." Amanda crinkles her nose.

"What, are you saying I smell?"

"No," she chuckles. "Although, you could use a shower and a shave."

He runs his knuckles along his jaw and feels the stubble graze his skin. Walking toward her office, Nick knocks on the door before pushing it open and stretching his neck to get a look inside. "Am I interrupting?"

Olivia sets the phone down and ushers him into her office. Her mouth twists into a frown as she takes in her sallow and disheveled detective. "You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks, Liv," he says sarcastically, leaning against the doorframe to support his exhausted body. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm heading out early. I think I'm coming down with something and I don't want to get anyone else sick –"

"—Say no more," Olivia says with her hand up. "You've been pulling way too much OT the last couple of days anyway. I was hoping you'd burn yourself out before I'd have to send you home… I know how much you hate it when I tell you what to do." Olivia smirks playfully as she rises from her desk and walks around it. "But you know, I didn't expect you to come around on your own."

Nick peers out to the squad room and catches sight of her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun, her white shirt clinging nicely around her waist, her curved hips tilting slightly as she studies the evidence on the corkboard. He turns back to his sergeant with a barely conspicuous smirk of his own. " I might've had a little help."

* * *

"_Fold it down like this," she instructs as she demonstrates the technique on the homemade puff pastry. "And then press the fork around the edges so it doesn't seep out."_

_Nick folds the pastry over the spoonful of red marmalade and some of it spills out. He glances up to see his mother busy with her own tray of pastries; he stealthily swipes at it with his fingers and brings it to his mouth, licking the sticky and sweet guayaba jelly. By the time Cesaria turns her attention back to her little helper, he's already sealing his first tart with the fork. _

"_Yes, just like that, Nicky."_

_The front door slams. Nick notices his mother's shoulders immediately tense, her eyes stay fixed on the tray of guayaba tarts she's working on. Footsteps become louder as a shadow looms over them. From the corner of the boy's eye, he sees his father with his arm stretched out against the doorframe. His Papi smells like a mix of stale cologne and tobacco. His clothes are wrinkled, a lipstick stain on his collar, and his neck is as red as the marmalade in the pastry._

"_Ceci, I'm home."_

_She continues to fold the pastry, ignoring her husband's garbled announcement. Nick chances a look over his shoulder and meets his father's bloodshot eyes. He's been drinking again and the six o'clock nightly news hasn't even come on yet. _

"_I said, I'm home," he says louder this time. "Don't I get a kiss from my wife?"_

_Cesaria inhales deeply and plants a big smile on her face before she turns around. "Sorry, Papi, I didn't hear you come in." She takes a few strides toward him and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. She's about to pull away when he takes her head in his hands and plants a wet, sloppy kiss in view of their seven-year-old son. Pulling away, she presses her lips together in a slight frown and takes a careful step back. Luckily, Nicolas has his attention diverted to something else, so he doesn't take advantage and prey on her fear. _

"_What is he wearing?" Nicolas asks, gesturing to the boy working over the kitchen counter._

_She stammers and wraps her arms protectively around her frail body. "It's just an apron so he won't get his clothes dirty."_

_Nicolas furrows his brows as he considers the pink floral apron. "My son looks like a girl."_

"_Papi…" she trails off and pleads with her eyes. Walking toward their son, she strokes his curls and gives him a reassuring smile. "He wanted to learn how to make guayaba pastelitos. I was just teaching him."_

_Nicolas' laughter thunders against the paper-thin walls. "My son is no pansy, ok? He doesn't need to be taught how to cook, or bake, or do a woman's job! The only things he needs to learn is how to fight! Am I right, Nicky?" He approaches them, and the boy presses himself closer to his mother._

"_I asked you a question!"_

"_Yes, Papi," Nick replies meekly._

"_Look at him!" Nicolas wildly gestures at the look of fear in the boy's eyes that is identical to his mother's. "He's already scared and I haven't even done anything." _

"_Nicolas, please," Cesaria begs. "I'll remove the apron." She kneels beside her son and pulls it over his head, smoothing down his blue-striped shirt. _

_Nick lowers his head and stares at the black and white linoleum tiles. He sees a spot of guayaba jelly on the corner of one of the black squares; he tries to concentrate on that but he can still see the way his Ma clings to her arms as if she's cold. It's the height of summer and she's shivering. Slowly, he looks up to see his father's hand commanding him to come closer. Keeping his eyes on the floor, he walks toward the towering figure. Nicolas grips his son's shoulders and studies him from arm's length, scrutinizing his lanky limbs and narrow shoulders. He snakes his hand around the boy's head and pushes him out to the living room. Nick stumbles forward and braces himself on the couch's armrest. Without warning, Nicolas wraps his forearm under the boy's chin and pulls him back. "Fight me."_

_Nick struggles to slip his head through the chokehold. He tries to twist his body around to loosen the grip, but the pressure on his neck gets stronger. His throat feels like it's wrapped in a vise, and he's finding it harder and harder to breathe._

"_You're not going anywhere if you're not going to play offense," Nicolas hisses into his ear. "Come on, be a man and hit me… Hit me… Like I showed you."_

"_Nicolas, please stop!" Cesaria cries, too afraid to get in the middle of it. She could still taste the metallic bitterness of blood that filled her mouth just a few nights ago. She can't stand to watch or let this happen, but she has no power to fight back. _

_He ignores the pleas of his wife by lifting his son off the ground. Nick swings his legs and tries to pull and scratch at the arm around his neck, but his father doesn't yield. His fingernails dig into the arm, leaving red lines and indentations, but his attempts do nothing to dislodge the restraint. "Hit me! Come on, I know you want to hit me!"_

_Nick sinks his teeth into the skin and bites hard. Nicolas screams and releases his hold. He stares wide-eyed at the imprints of teeth slicing through the top layer of skin. He looks up, breathing heavy, to see his son dart across the room. Nick runs down the short hallway and slams the door to the bathroom. The lock clicks just as the pounding on the door begins. "Open up, Nicky! You little shit! Look what you did to my arm!"_

_Inside the bathroom, Nick crawls under the pedestal sink and draws his knees close to his chest. He rocks himself back and forth, counting down to the moment his father would inevitably use his brute strength to force the door open. He gets to Mississippi twelve when slivers of wood fly in the air and a burst of light enters the windowless space. "What are you? A dog?" Nicolas stretches his arm out to show the small lesion, blood dripping down to his wrist. "That was a cheap shot, Nicky! Real men don't fight like that!" He crouches down and picks his son up by the collar, Nick's bare feet dangling inches off the ground. Nick feels the cool tile pressed against the back of his neck and he closes his eyes as the first fist connects to his stomach._

_His Ma never gets around to finishing those guayaba tarts. _

* * *

His eyelids flutter open and take in the dark outlines of his bedroom. Nick glances at the flashing red numbers on his alarm clock, and burrows into the pillow as he realizes he's only slept for four hours. It's the longest uninterrupted sleep he's had for days, but the contents of his dream failed to make it as tranquilizing as he had hoped. Pushing up against the headboard, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He swings his legs over the bed to walk out to the kitchen, in search of a tall glass of water to soothe his parched throat. The second he opens the door, his stomach turns. Something feels off.

Nick tiptoes further back into the bedroom and pulls open his dresser to retrieve his gun. He cocks the weapon and slowly walks down the dark hallway, picking up on the stench of smoke that becomes more powerful as he approaches the front of the house. All the lights are turned off except for the one in the kitchen. He stops frozen in his tracks as he hears the sound of the exhaust fan whirring. Turning the corner, he raises his gun.

But he immediately lowers his weapon once he sees Amanda, her back turned, slaving over the hot stove. Sighing in relief, Nick turns the safety back on and lowers the gun on the table behind him.

He approaches her from behind and snakes his arm around her waist. Amanda jumps slightly before she realizes who it is. She looks over her shoulder as a smile fans across her face, cheeks already pink from working in the hot kitchen. Nick presses a kiss on her temple before peeking at the dark brown stew simmering in the pot. She settles into his arms as she stirs their dinner with a wooden spoon. "I'm sorry," she says with a sigh.

"Sorry for what?"

"I Googled recipes for that Sopa de Ajo thing you made me last spring. I followed all the steps but the color's wrong, the taste is wrong… It didn't turn out anything like yours."

Nick takes the spoon from her hand and scoops up some of the broth. She's right about the color, but it could still taste delicious (in spite of the aroma of burnt garlic). He blows at the soup to cool it down before bringing it to his lips. Amanda twists her upper body so she can get a better look at his reaction, waiting patiently with quiet expectation. Nick swallows hard and forces a smile.

"That bad, huh?"

"No, it's fine," he quickly answers, setting the spoon back in the pot and closing the lid. "We can always water it down so it's not too salty and use a sieve to remove the charred garlic."

She buries her head on his chest and groans. "I'm useless."

"Babe, that's not true… It's the thought that counts. Thank you returning the favor and taking care of me this time around."

She pulls her head back and tilts it to the side. "How exactly am I taking care of you?"

He leans in to kiss her softly, brushing his thumb down her cheek to cup her chin. "You're here, and I'm already feeling much better." He winks at her.

She slaps him playfully on the chest before she reaches around her to turn the heat off the stove. Sighing, Amanda shakes her head. "I'm no good at this –"

"—At cooking? Yeah, you're a bit of a lost cause in the kitchen," he chuckles, squeezing a little tighter around her waist when she tries to squirm out of his hold. She pouts and crinkles her nose like a sullen little girl. "But you know what you're really good at? You're really good at ordering from our favorite Chinese place. Every time you talk to Mr. Chang in that sexy Southern drawl, he upsizes the chow mein and throws in a few extra fortune cookies."

"Are you asking me to flirt with Mr. Chang?"

The corner of his mouth turns up to an impish grin. "I'll let it slide. It's for a good cause," he says, rubbing his empty stomach.

Amanda narrows her eyes at him before reaching for her phone and looking through her directory. Less than an hour later, they're feasting on wonton soup, fried noodles, and beef sautéed in broccoli and oyster sauce. Nick is already feeling much better. The color returns to his face and fades the dark circles under his eyes. After they open their four fortune cookies and learn how to say the words 'grass', 'cow', 'pencil', and 'love' in broken Cantonese, Amanda offers to clear the table while Nick settles down on the couch.

When she returns, she passes him a cup of chamomile and peppermint tea, which she hopes will clear up his congested airways much like it did for her when she came down with a heavy bout of springtime allergies. Before she can walk away, Nick pulls her down on his lap. He buries his nose in her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of vanilla and honeysuckle.

"Any news on Jonah's case?" he asks hopefully. Part of the reason he had trouble falling asleep earlier was because he was still thinking about the pictures of the cuts and bruises. He doesn't really know how conscious thoughts affect one's dreams, but he doesn't need a dream interpreter to tell him the correlations between their current investigation and his damaged childhood.

Amanda chews down on her bottom lip and shakes her head. "We left a couple messages to his former students but no word back yet. The good news is Fin and Carisi are coming around and they're starting to see it the way we do." She rests her palms on his cheeks and leans her forehead against his. Closing her eyes, she breathes deep before she pulls away slightly. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"You've been so worked up on this case… You lived in the squad room for two days and barely got any sleep… I just – I can't help but wonder if it's got something to do with seeing yourself in Jonah... Am I wrong?"

"Amanda…"

"No, baby, I know," she says, soothing him with a soft kiss on the lips. "I'm sorry if I'm bringing up the bad stuff. I – I shouldn't have asked –"

"—No, it's not you… It's ok," he reassures, pulling her closer to his body. "Truth is, you're right. I am letting this case get to me because I see myself in Jonah. I was sort of in his spot when I was a kid. Only, it wasn't my coach; it was my dad. Either way, it's someone you look up to, someone you think you can trust… My dad, he – uh. When I was really young – maybe too young to really understand what he was doing – he used to teach me how to fight."

"Like Coach Roper?"

Nick takes a deep breath. "He was really big on making sure I knew how to respect and fear his authority. At the same time, he wanted me to know how to fight like a man, and how to conduct myself like his idea of one… In his head, that was his way of preparing me for life. And to him, that was just how he showed love, you know?"

She traces her thumb along his cheekbone. "How did he teach you?"

"He'd wrestle me or grapple with me, then he'd egg me on to fight back. Saying stupid shit like 'offense is the best defense' or whatever… Somehow, whether I hit him back or not, it always ended up with him losing his temper and beating the shit out of me." Nick tightly shuts his eyes to keep the tears at bay. Even now, he still hears the echo of his father's roar telling him 'boys don't cry'. He shakes the thought from the forefront of his mind and lets it settle into the deep recesses of his brain. It never really goes away; it just hides.

"Those bruises on Jonah's body – they couldn't have been from another kid in the class. They came from the coach. Only a man three times Jonah's size could inflict that kind of damage on a kid."

Amanda presses her lips together in a frown. "Because you've seen it before…"

He lowers his head and breaks into a wistful smile, masking the true emotions he, for so long, was never allowed to feel. Amanda wraps her arms around him and holds on, letting the comfort and security linger. Nick is usually the one taking on the savior role, even when she often resists; but this time, he lets her be the one to swoop in and save him. Her lips brush against the edge of his ear and she inhales the scent of his warm aftershave, which always reminds her of a protective embrace.

"You're a good man, Nick," she whispers, her breath caressing his skin. "And none of it is because of him."

At first glance at Nick's jacket, one might see that he's a fighter – volatile, impulsive, aggressive, passionate – but underneath all that simmering anger is the heart of a boy that fights to be stronger than the past that haunts him.

He nestles his head on her shoulder, seeking temporary shelter. And as he slowly picks her up, Amanda wraps her legs around his hips and stares down at his soulful eyes, allowing herself to immerse into their depths. He bares a piece of his soul to her and she returns it with love. She may not have cooked the soup right and she may not have the license to prescribe the drugs that'll remedy the pain, but she cares for him. She gives him more than he could've asked for. When he looks at their relationship and sees how far they've come to get here, he believes her when she says he's a good man, because a great part of it he owes to Amanda for making him a better person. He's more patient, selfless, and trusting because of the woman in his arms.

Nick kisses her tenderly, carrying her toward the bedroom and parting breathlessly in the middle of their journey. He doesn't know if it's from the congestion in his lungs or from the sheer intensity of the kiss – maybe it's both. He turns away and coughs into the bend of his elbow. Amanda gets down on her feet and leads him into the room. She pushes him gently onto the bed and joins him, crawling toward the lamp on the nightstand to switch it off. "Time for bed, babe."

He grumbles a few choice curse words under his breath, but doesn't move an inch because the bed feels too comfortable. Amanda nuzzles her nose into the crook of his neck as his strong arms wrap around her waist. He closes his eyes and he sees the sun setting over the Harlem River, the breeze kissing the shadows of his swollen right eye and his busted lip. When home doesn't feel safe, this is where he disappears.

Nick always sleeps better when she's sharing his bed.


	17. Fairy Godfather

**AN: **_Hello! Thank you for the overwhelming amount of reviews for Grasshopper, even though most of it was just you guys telling me to update. So, here's an update! Sooner or later, I will get around to it. You just gotta give me time to write because these words don't just flow out of me; it's work... but work I enjoy :) Also, if you are reading my newest multi-chapter fic **Hush** and you're wondering why I didn't accept the challenge to publish two updates within a day, it's because I can't allow myself to half-ass a chapter. As Ron Swanson would say, you gotta whole-ass that thing. And if you're wondering WTF is Hush, then go read this and then read that after. Your rollaro-loving heart will (hopefully) be satisfied._

_This was an anon request on tumblr, where Nick heads out of town to visit Zara and he enlists the help of Fin to look out for / babysit a very pregnant Amanda. _

_Please read, enjoy, and review! YAY FINANDA!_

* * *

"You need to remind her every morning to take her prenatal vitamins. She's going to be a wiseass and say she can remember on her own; but if you don't say anything, chances are she's going to forget."

Nick entered the kitchen and pulled out a one-pound bag of coffee from the pantry. Opening the cabinet under the sink, he crouched down to hide the coffee behind spare bottles of dish detergent. "She's going to be stubborn and try to convince you that pregnant women can have coffee, and in some cases, yeah, it's fine… But not with Amanda… Her heart palpitates like crazy and then she freaks out about the pregnancy and motherhood. And, man, trust me – you don't want to see that." He slammed it shut and turned to Fin. "She can get pretty scary."

"All right, vitamins, no coffee. What else do I need to know?" Fin asked, popping a couple of Flamin' Hot Cheetos into his mouth. He knew he got this. Her partner's baby daddy was wigging out for no reason; Nick was just being his typical paranoid self. It wasn't like this was Fin's first time taking care of a pregnant woman. So how was this going to be any different to the time his ex was pregnant with Ken?

"She goes through different cycles of cravings. But right now, she's all about bananas even though she used to hate them." Nick opened the freezer and looked inside. "Ice cream is foolproof; just make sure there's always at least three different kinds to choose from because she's really picky with flavors." He paced restlessly out to the living room of the apartment, and started fluffing the throw pillows. "She also likes scrambled eggs on toast for breakfast, but she likes her eggs really soggy and her toast crunchy so try to keep them separate on the plate."

"You expect me to cook for her?"

Nick threw him a pleading smile. "It helps with the mood swings."

"What mood swings?" Amanda stepped out of the bathroom after a long session emptying her bladder. Narrowing her eyes at the father of the demon spawn inside her, she pressed her hand on the dull ache on her lower back. "Last night you were telling me, _'oooh, Amanda, this pregnancy makes you so much more open, so much more vulnerable, so much more in touch with your emotions. I think it's great'_," she said, mimicking the cadence of his voice.

Fin chuckled as he shoved a handful of Cheetos into his mouth. Watching those two bicker never got old.

Nick walked closer to his girlfriend and placed his palms over her baby bump. "I meant all that. I think it's great that you're not trying to hide what you're feeling anymore… And I kind of enjoy being at your beck and call, moody pregnant lady."

"Out." She swung her arm sideways and pointed directly to the door.

With a soft laugh, Nick pressed a quick kiss to her lips then on the top of her belly. "I'll call as soon as I land… Love you." As he wheeled his suitcase down the hall, he turned to Fin, slapped his hand, and pulled him into a side hug. "Thanks again, man."

"Don't worry about it. She's my partner."

Casting one last glance over his shoulder at the third mother of his third child, he mouthed another 'I love you'. He just couldn't help himself. Amanda crossed her arms over her enlarged and tender chest, which Nick profoundly appreciated. Rolling her eyes, she mouthed the same words back, still uncomfortable with public displays of affection, especially when her partner was around. "Ok, get your ass out of here before you miss your flight."

The second Nick closed the door behind him, and left just Fin and Amanda in her apartment, her bottom lip quivered and her eyes welled up with tears. A sob spilled out of her lips as she brought her face down to her hands. Fin immediately dropped the bag of chips and dashed toward her, looking around for something to wipe his stained fingers on. Tentatively, he approached her with his fingers splayed far apart so as not to get hot orange Cheetos dust on her. He pulled her into an awkward embrace and asked, "What's wrong, baby girl?"

Burrowing her face into his shoulder, Amanda soaked his sleeve with her tears. "I miss him! I miss him already!"

* * *

Fin searched through the freezer to pull out three tubs of ice cream: rocky road, vanilla, and a pumpkin spice cheesecake abomination that almost made him throw up in his mouth. "Uh, so you said you wanted chocolate?"

"Yes, please," she yelled from her comfortable spot on the couch.

They just had dinner together. Fin ordered Chinese takeout from the restaurant around the block and made sure to ask for extra plum sauce because Amanda was slurping it down like soup. He'd never seen his partner wolf down so much food so efficiently; the only other person he could think of who inhaled food faster was Sonny Carisi. Lanky as he was, the kid could finish a hotdog in two bites without even chewing.

"Could you stick it in the microwave for like five seconds? I like my ice cream melted down a little."

Fin arched his eyebrows but did as he was told. He remembered Nick's warning of Amanda's scary side, and he liked his partner too much to let the possibility of witnessing her at her 'worst' taint his perception of her. The microwave dinged and he took the bowl of softened ice cream to his partner, laying it down on her open hands. He expected a 'thank you' or at least a smile in gratitude, but instead all he got out of her was a disappointed pout. "What's the matter?"

"It's rocky road," she pointed out. "I asked for chocolate."

"But you don't have plain chocolate… Besides, rocky road _is_ chocolate."

"Yeah, but this has nuts and marshmallows and –"

"—You're right," said Fin, grabbing the bowl. He reached for the remote on the coffee table and flipped the television on, quickly changing the channel when it opened up to ESPN. "You go watch TV and I'm gonna run down across the street to get your ice cream." Truth be told, his intentions were less about appeasing the pregnant woman and more about finding an excuse to get out of her apartment even for just fifteen minutes. It hadn't even been a full day, and he was already more exhausted than that last hour of his shift on a Friday. Regardless, the bright smile that fanned across her face _almost_ made up for all the trouble she was putting him through. "Plain ass chocolate, right?"

Amanda nodded, but before Fin could rise from the couch completely, she grabbed his arm and yanked him back down. "You know, on second thought, I think I want orange popsicles instead."

* * *

It was only day two of Fin sleeping over at his partner's apartment while Nick was away in California for Zara's ninth birthday. At first, Nick was hesitant about leaving his pregnant girlfriend of eight months to fend for herself, especially since last week's fainting incident. As usual, Amanda played it off like it was no big deal but Nick wasn't hearing it, recruiting Fin to watch over her for the three days he was going to be in LA.

In the last forty-eight hours, Fin became reacquainted with the signs and symptoms experienced by most pregnant women. Some of it he remembered when his ex-wife was pregnant; but he honestly didn't remember it being this hard. Maybe Amanda just had it tough… like everything else in her life. She was constantly fatigued, which probably explained for the midnight dig through her pantry in search for the bag of medium roast coffee. Fortunately, he spoiled her plans before he could experience being at the receiving end of a caffeine-induced meltdown.

At night, he reclined on the couch that was covered in dog hair, and listened to her moan and groan in her room because that was when the pregnancy pains were hitting hard. And, because she was suffering from a poorly timed bout of insomnia, she had woken him up to whine about anything and everything – people complaining about spoilers six months after an episode had aired, nepotism in the workplace, Murphy calling from Serbia and demanding a paternity test… The list went on and on and on until the first sign of daybreak peeked through the clouds.

He loved Amanda to death, but sleep edged her out by just a little bit. And if strangling a pregnant woman wasn't counted as a double homicide, then he might've considered it at one point.

Now, she had cramps in her legs and she stretched them out over his lap, sweetly asking in that Southern accent if he could massage her calves. "Come on, Nick does it."

""Yeah, because he's guilty for that." Fin gestured to her growing belly – the unborn life form causing all her agony. "Hey, how about I just get you a banana for the cramps?"

She shook her head and grimaced, face turning green at the thought of the fruit. "You know I hate bananas."

"That's what I thought!" he exclaimed. "But Nick told me you're always craving them now."

"Nick doesn't know shit," she muttered under her breath.

Fin sighed as he realized there was no way he was getting out of it. He rested his hands on the back of her milky white legs and started massaging. It was a good thing his partner was cute and had a nice pair of legs, even though they were a bit prickly from days of not shaving, because there was no way in hell he was doing this for just anybody.

* * *

Later that evening, as they had dinner and talked shop, Fin noticed two damp circles spreading across her heathered gray t-shirt. She kept eating away as if she hadn't even realized what was going on. He cleared his throat, causing Amanda to look up from her food and furrow her brows at him. With his mouth full and his fork as an indicator, he gestured toward her breasts.

Amanda glanced down and pulled the t-shirt away from her skin. "Crap! This happens sometimes…" she trailed off and shrugged her shoulders. "Whatever."

"Look, I'mma stay up with you while you're complaining about heartburn and nausea. Hell, I'll even massage your legs… But, I'm gonna have to draw the line at leaky tits!"

She ignored him and continued to shovel the lasagna into her mouth.

"Aren't you gonna change your shirt?"

"And add onto my growing pile of laundry?" she scoffed. "My nipples are just going to leak into that shirt and the next one, so what's the point in changing?"

"I don't know, man," Fin began to say, "it's kind of weird sitting across you when there are two wet circles just staring at me."

"Staring?" She dropped her fork on the plate and tilted her head to the side in disbelief. "Geez, Fin. It's not like they have eyes."

"Oh they do!" He aimed both index fingers out like lasers. "And they're pointing straight at me."

* * *

The day of Nick's return finally arrived, and as much as Fin got a kick out of the slumber party with Amanda, he couldn't wait to come home and catch up on twenty-four hours of uninterrupted sleep in his own bed. He was folding his spare clothes into his duffel bag when he heard soft whimpers coming from her room. Moving closer to the sound, he knocked on the door that was already ajar and poked his head through the gap. He saw Amanda standing in front of a full-length mirror; she was dressed in a sports bra and knee-length leggings, her naked baby bump in full view.

She looked over her shoulder when she saw her partner's reflection in the mirror. In her hand, she held onto the white and pink floral dress she wore to Noah's adoption party months ago. She sputtered as the tears streamed down her eyes. "I can't fit into my old clothes anymore!"

"Of course you can't. You're eight months pregnant," Fin reminded her, settling down on the edge of her bed.

"I know… But what if after I have this baby, I won't be able to lose the weight. What if I stay fat? Nick is gonna leave me if I stay fat –"

"—Whoa, hold up. What makes you think choirboy is gonna leave you just because you've gained a little weight?"

"A little?" She swept her hand over her belly, the size of a watermelon infused with growth hormones (her words, not his). "I'm a whale."

"Like a killer whale or a blue whale?"

She chucked the dress at him and he caught it before it hit him in the face. Fin chuckled as he leaned back against the bed to face the ceiling. He rolled his eyes up to check the clock on the nightstand; it would be two hours before Nick's plane landed, and even then it would take him another hour just to get out of La Guardia and make it back to Amanda's apartment. Propping himself on his elbows, he watched her fingers stroke over the swell of her stomach.

"You look fine," he began, "and you'll still look fine after you have the little guy."

"Yeah?" She smiled lightly.

He returned her smile with a reassuring one of his own and patted the empty space beside him. Joining him on the bed, she tried to cross her legs and tilt her body toward him.

"Fin, you know, you've never asked to feel the baby… I practically have to peel Liv off of me sometimes. And don't get me started on Carisi's baby whispering…."

"Amanda, you know I'm gonna love this kid no matter what. But you know me. You know I'm not into the whole baby thing."

"Me too," she admitted as she bit down on her bottom lip. "The most experience I've had dealing with babies have been on the job, and even then I was always looking for someone else to get them off my hands. I was always scared of dropping them on the head or accidentally teaching them to say 'cocksucker' as their first word." She brushed her fingertips over her belly and smiled down at the outcome of one reckless night with her boyfriend. He was normally so careful, which was necessary because she was terrible at remembering to take her pills; but on that night in February, they were just too caught up in lust to think about protection. And while the eight pink lines on the four positive pregnancy tests scared the crap out of her, she grew to love the little Amaro growing inside of her.

She reached for her partner's hand and Fin gave her an uneasy stare; still, he allowed her to plant his rigid palm over the side of her belly. Eventually he relaxed as he felt the warmth of her skin.

"Do you feel that? You feel the shape of his foot?"

Fin's eyes widened at the small curve that kicked into the center of his palm. "Wow, he's really kicking!"

"Yeah, Nick thinks he's going to end up in the U.S. Men's Soccer team or a punter for the Giants."

"And you?" Fin asked. "What do you want him to be?"

Amanda smiled at the feel of Fin's hand cupping the little bulge of her son's foot. "I just want him to be healthy. I know whatever happens after he's born doesn't really matter because he's got a great dad… And _you_ for a godfather."

Fin looked up to meet her eyes, his mouth turning up at the corners. "Don't forget, he's got the best momma, too."

* * *

Turning the key into the lock, Nick pushed the door open to Amanda's apartment, which truly felt more like home than his house at the Bronx. Ever since they found out she was pregnant (and they got over the initial shock and panic), he had practically moved in.

Amanda wanted to be laid-back about the whole thing and not rush into the next step, but he often thought about selling his house and asking her if she wanted to move into a bigger place with him. Eventually, her one-bedroom flat wouldn't be enough to contain the baby. And she always longed for a neighborhood with more parks nearby for Frannie's sake. It seemed like the logical next step.

It wasn't lost on him – this idea that their relationship was all in reverse. They weren't even officially together when she found out she was having his baby. And eight months into the pregnancy was when he was thinking about moving in together. The next step would have been a wedding, then an engagement, and then maybe they could finally get around to having that awkward first date.

Smiling at the thought of taking her out to a fancy dinner and a movie, he rolled his suitcase down the hall and further into the apartment, where he found Amanda curled up against Fin. They were watching _Love Actually_, which was surprising since it took a lot of convincing on his part to get her to sit down and watch it with him after she confessed she had never seen it. She made fun of him throughout the whole thing that she couldn't even recall a single character's name by the time the film ended. Now, she was so absorbed in the scene where Hugh Grant's character was knocking on doors in search of the girl of his dreams.

Kicking off his shoes, Nick sank down on the couch beside Amanda. She finally tore her eyes away from the screen and looked up to him with a wide grin. "You're home!" She placed a hand behind his neck and pulled him down for a lingering kiss.

Fin cleared his throat and placed a throw pillow to separate himself from the couple making out on the couch.

They giggled into the kiss as Nick slowly pulled away, Amanda scooting over to lean on his chest while her legs stretched over Fin's lap. He didn't even protest this time, and even mindlessly massaged her calf muscles without pulling his eyes away from the scene – the secretary, the prime minister, and the kid in the octopus costume squeezed into the back of the limousine.

"Ha! He's cockblocking them!" Fin laughed.

Amanda shook her head at her partner before she turned to Nick. "How was LA?"

"It was good. Zara had a great birthday; she invited every single kid in her class because she didn't want anyone to feel left out. Gil was there too; he was hiding away with his comic books for most of the party, but we had a good talk… He, uh, he asked me how I would go about telling a girl I liked her."

She bit down on her lip and squealed.

"He's twelve."

"So?" she said, knitting her brows together. "Don't tell me you didn't have crushes when you were twelve."

"Shhh!" Fin hissed, holding his finger up to his lips. "I'm trying to watch a movie here."

Nick chuckled as he intertwined his fingers with Amanda and rested them over her stomach. He felt their baby shift, its tiny hand pressing up against his. He wanted to bend down and coo and talk to their son, but he assumed Fin wouldn't appreciate the distraction. Leaning against the armrest and sighing in content, he felt tired from the flight yet relieved to be home. And although he pictured Fin taking off as soon as he returned, he didn't mind the company. After all, the man had spent the last three days doing him a favor and keeping an eye on his girl. So if he wanted to stay, watch Netflix, and chill (the oxford comma is important here, people), then he was welcome to do that.

Hugging Amanda tight, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and trailed his lips down to the shell of her ear. "Missed you, babe."


	18. F Train on Sixth

**AN: **_Hey! It's been a while since I updated Good Cop, Bad Cop. Half a year? Holy crap. It sounds worse than saying 6 months... It doesn't mean I've been inactive though; I've been trying my best to update Hush, which is also a rollaro fic, and I've also written for a few other ships as well. __Rollaro is still my OTP though, even if the show goes off on a different direction and careens off a cliff. Rollaro did the careening off a cliff better; they probably did it sexier, too. _

_So why have I been gone? If you follow me on twitter, you'll know that I'm in nursing school. Long story short, it's killing me. So, I'll try to update when I can but writing fanfic just can't be my priority right now. Not when my future livelihood hangs in the balance. _

_Please review!_

* * *

**F(uck) Train on Sixth**

* * *

Ever the gentleman, Nick holds the door open for you.

Crossing the threshold, you peer through your lashes, knowing your sly smile is revealing the dimple on your right cheek. It's his Kryptonite. He groans in equal parts frustration and arousal, throwing his head back to rest on the stained glass door of your midtown bar. The usually tourist-packed streets now have this eerie emptiness, which may have something to do with it being 2:30 in the morning on a Thursday night. But you remember just how crowded it was hours ago. You remember how Nick took your hand and navigated through the current, before finding refuge in the bar and hearing the chime of the bell signalling your arrival.

The forecast predicted early spring weather, which is why you opted for the sundress and denim jacket. But maybe you should've listened to Nick when he came by to pick you up. He suggested you bring a heavier jacket. Just in case. And maybe wear some jeans, even though your legs looked "amazing" enough that he couldn't help himself; he had to pick you up, press you up against the wall, and run his fingers up your thighs. _Higher. Higher. Higher. _

Until you were interrupted by the whine of your dog. Frannie adores Nick. But since you both treat her like your baby, you suppose it makes sense she doesn't like seeing mom and dad getting all hot and heavy. Fair enough.

You stand on the edge of the sidewalk with your arms wrapped around your body. The heels of your boots click on the pavement as you shift from heel to toe, trying to do whatever you can to get the circulation going. You're rubbing your arms and blowing a cold plume of smoke into the night air, when you feel swathed in leather and the cologne of your lover. You smile, lashes fluttering to seal your eyes as you allow your senses to indulge. Ever the gentleman, Nick adjusts his jacket over your shoulders in an effort to keep you warm.

He has a smirk on his face. It's that 'I told you so' smirk he uses on his own kids, which elicits an eye roll when he's got his back turned. But he knows you well; he knows better than to actually say it out loud. He knows you hate when he brings out that righteous prick - that side of him you loathed and lusted after for the better part of two years until you finally decided enough was enough.

And you needed to fuck it out of him.

How fortuitous to have these thoughts on a night that was sort of your anniversary. Neither of you wanted to assign a label to your relationship when it started, but you've both subconsciously kept track of the day you first hooked up two years ago. While it started off as just sex (after you called Nick's bluff on his reasons for sucker-punching Murphy), it grew into something much more. Now, you're not sure what 'more' entails, but you've started to make a habit of doing things normal couples do. You try out new restaurants in your neighbourhood; you catch movies at an ancient cinema in the Bronx that no one ever frequents. And he has a toothbrush in your place. A toothbrush!

It didn't even hit you that you were on a legitimate anniversary date with your legitimate boyfriend until you were in the middle of the theatre. The velvet curtains pulled and the lights dimmed to a pitch black, Nick's hand enveloping yours in the darkness. You'd like to think it was a sweet, romantic gesture; but knowing the closet musical theatre nerd, he was probably just really excited the show was finally starting. Nonetheless, you interlaced your fingers and held him through rapping Founding Fathers all the way to intermission.

After the show, which was a lot more entertaining than you had anticipated, but probably not as 'life-changing' as Nick claimed it would be, you hit up the bar for some drinks. You were both off the next day thanks to your date's big mouth. Everyone in the squad knew about your relationship, but there was a don't-ask-don't-tell policy you set in place to keep your nosey co-workers out of your business. Still, Nick couldn't help himself and he had to make Liv jealous with the half-priced Hamilton tickets he scored from an old confidential informant. After learning he was taking you out for your sort-of anniversary, Liv wanted to celebrate your 'love' by giving you two days off. But even with the assurance that you could have gotten wasted and not have to care about nursing a hangover the next morning, you were calling it quits after three drinks. You were getting too old. And your theory only earned more credence as Nick stretched his arms over his head and yawned.

"Bed?" You asked, and he nodded with eyes half-lidded from alcohol and exhaustion. "Come on, let's get you tucked in, gramps."

You stand at the edge of the subway platform, your toes touching the color change in the tile. Nick gives you a wary look from where he's standing, safely, three feet away from the edge. He's told you stories of people being pushed to oncoming trains. He's already paused the first episode of House of Cards season two to show you why keeping a safe distance from the edge could save your life. But you don't care; you love to tease.

Nick shakes his head, a close-mouthed smile on his face as he throws his jacket over one shoulder. You thanked him for the chivalrous gesture, but shedded the jacket the moment you got underground; the humid heat permeating through the 6th street subway station. Two fingers hook the jacket by the collar, his white t-shirt clinging tightly around muscled arms and laying flat over his stomach. With his hair getting longer and curlier at the ends, and his jeans naturally fading from overuse, there's a dark and dangerous mystery about him. Like a Latin James Dean you shouldn't be taking back home to your apartment.

Too bad you're well aware your lover is a total dweeb.

Your hair flies in front of your face. The train speeds right past you, car after car, until it hits the brakes with the noise of metal scraping on metal. The doors slide open and you step inside the empty space - no passengers, just abandoned newspapers and coffee cups. Nick is right behind you, collapsing onto a seat right by the doors. Looking over your shoulder, you swing around a pole situated in the center aisle before you plop down beside him.

The train moves forward, leaving the station to enter through a maze of tunnels. Nick's arm is stretched across the row of plastic seats, his forearm barely touching your shoulder. His head is tilted back and his eyes are sealed from the harsh fluorescent lights. You scan through the empty car and skim over the ads and posters, stopping when you catch a sign of _do's and dont's_ while on the subway. Don't eat smelly food. Don't play your music too loud. And each reminder is accompanied by a picture of a stick figure doing something, that while isn't exactly punishable by the law, is considered an affront to common courtesy. It's the last one of the set that catches your eye. It's two stick figures locked in what appears to be an embrace with a heart over their conjoined heads.

For a cop, you've never really been one to play by the rules.

Nick's eyes pop open, his body jerking forward as he feels your hand pressing firmly on his package. He's soft, totally not expecting you to get handsy with him in a public place on a moving vehicle. His head snaps toward you, brows furrowing and mouth stammering to ask a question that sounds more like a bunch of repeated syllables. You grasp him a little tighter, a wicked smile forming on your face as you feel him become more rigid. He shifts in his seat, looking around for any excuse to make you stop.

"We're the only ones here."

"Cameras," he reminds you, looking up along the length of the ceiling. "I know they have them up there somewhere."

"I don't mind." You lick your lips as you palm his dick, feeling it tent and strain against the denim fabric. Leaning into him, you release a breathy moan against his ear. "They can watch."

The subway jolts to a stop. The heel of your hand digs into his groin and he bites his lip to keep his mouth shut. Blood rises to his neck, tinting his skin ruby and pulsating his veins with greater force. The doors slide open and in comes a Hasidic Jew.

You pull your hand back so fast you almost end up whacking yourself in the face. The man takes a seat on the far end across the aisle, paying no mind to the fact that you were just giving another man a handjob two seconds earlier. Nick keeps his head low, his jacket slowly inching from the seat next to him to settle over the bulge in his pants. You can't help but giggle quietly to yourself. You were almost caught messing around in a public place, and by a religious man no less. Your laughs may not just be in your head because Nick turns to you and glares. "Not funny."

"Oh, but it is," you say, glancing down at his lap.

He shifts again uncomfortably and stares down at the floor.

Two stops later, the Jewish man gets off the train without so much as a look in your direction. A true New Yorker, indeed. Being alone once again allows you to continue on with your game of torturing your lover. And what better way to tease him than with a striptease?

You throw your denim jacket on top of the pile he has on his lap, getting up to saunter over to the pole. Wrapping your fingers around the cool, metal bar, you walk around slowly. With one arm outstretched and the other dangling loosely on your side, you shift your weight to spin halfway.

"Amanda." His call is a warning but there's an unmistakable hoarseness to his voice. He likes this. You don't even have to see the reaction on his face to know that he's still hard for you. Wrapping your other hand around the pole, you lean back. Your eyes lock on his - dark and serious, but with a hint of that danger that you always knew was beneath the starched shirts and the pressed ties. He sighs, a hand rubbing across his face. "Baby, you're going to hurt yourself."

You hate it when he's right.

But nothing pushes you to do something stupid quite like the cautionary advice of a man trying to protect you. So you do it anyway, propelling yourself up and toward the pole. Your ankles wrap around the bar, sliding around a smooth 180 degrees before the metal burns against your inner thigh and you fall flat on your ass.

It _fucking_ hurts. There's no playing it off like it was all part of the act, because the wince on your face is the furthest from amused. It's definitely going to leave a bruise in the morning. And before you can even stand up and pick up whatever's left of your pride and dignity, Saint Nick is by your side and to the rescue. He squats, helping you up by hooking his arms under your shoulders. You're just about to get yourself flat on your feet when the train lurches into a sudden stop. You fall back against Nick's chest, and you both land sideways on the row of seats behind you.

"Ow," Nick says as he tries to sit up. "Are you okay?"

You shift on his lap, holding onto his shoulders to stabilize and reorient yourself. Just then, the lights flicker on and off, before finally filling the train with a bone-chilling darkness. You're stuck in the middle of a tunnel; this would be the worst time for the lights to go out.

"What the fuck is going on?" Your fingers curl against the cotton of his t-shirt, bunching it up as your breathing becomes shallower.

"Hey," Nick says softly, "I'm sure the lights will come on and we'll start moving again in a sec. This happens all the time."

"Uh, hasn't happened once since I moved here," you say sharply.

"I'm sure everything's fi-"

"We apologize for the delay," interrupts the voice buzzing from the loudspeaker. The sound is muffled, so it's difficult to make out the explanation for the delay, but there's something about an electrical wiring issue and how there's an on-board engineer trying to fix the system. "We are trying our best to resolve this issue, and we should be running again within the next few minutes. Thank you for your patience."

You groan, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You shake his shoulders and pout playfully. "Ugh, I just want to get home and have you fuck my brains out."

Nick chuckles breathily. As you try to get off his lap, his arm stays firm around your lower back to keep you flush against his body. When you look up to meet his eyes, they're burning with a menacing intensity.

"Wh- Why are you looking at me like that?"

He dips his head close enough so his warm breath grazes your lips. "Why wait until we get home?"

"Nick, we can't -" His hand rests on your knee, rising up your thighs just below the sheer cotton of the floral-printed dress. You bite onto your bottom lip as his calloused fingertips skim toward your inner thigh, your skin pricking with anticipation. Dark eyes widen slightly as he slides along the narrow seat of your thong; the useless fabric too skimpy to even cover your labia. "I was only joking around."

"Joking?" His eyes narrow as he pulls his hand back to press firmly on your thigh.

"The cameras…"

"The lights are off," he says, "do you really think the cameras would be working right now?"

"You're not really going to -" You stop as his finger rises to sweep up your slit, digits sliding and soaking into your wetness. He coaxes more of your arousal to drip along your lips, the languid motions of his fingers leaving you breathless and derailed from your train of thought.

"I'm not really going to? What were you saying?" Nick asks with a feigned innocence, his head cocking to the side like a cute puppy begging for a pat on the head. Meanwhile, his skilled fingers continue to provoke a more carnal reaction out of you. "If I remember correctly, you wanted me to fuck your brains out."

You push and grind yourself against his hand, his knuckles digging deep against your cunt. "You really gonna do this?"

"You really think you had the self-control to say 'no'?" Nick shoves the soaked string to the side and pushes two fingers inside you. "You can't start something and not expect me to finish." You wrap your arms around his neck and descend your lips upon his. Whiskey on his lips and a taste that's so distinctly Nick, it had you addicted from day one. You don't waste any time, slipping your tongue into his hot mouth as his fingers stroke along your walls. He presses his palm flat against you, while his thumb rubs circles around your clit. Your moan mingles with his kiss, which grows in equal fervor to the work of his expert fingers. "Tell me when you're close."

His words urge you on, and you dig further against his hand, practically riding the long digits impaling you. He curves them upward and inward, pressing into a spot that brings you closer to the cusp of orgasm. His thumb presses on your clit, almost painfully, before releasing and massaging gentle circles to soothe the sting. With your hands planted on his shoulders, you lift yourself slightly and drop yourself down, rolling your hips in a haphazard figure-eight. You're writhing, gasping, nearing the edge, and panting into the shell of his ear. "Baby, I'm so close… I'm going to… Fuck… I'm almost -"

He rips his hand out from under you, leaving you cold and unfulfilled.

"Son of a bitch!"

He takes his finger - the one drenched in your cream all the way down to the knuckle - and drags it over your lips. "Shhh…"

"God, I hate you."

He smirks before he places a patronizing kiss on your forehead. "Likewise, baby."

Your sexual frustration is at a breaking point, like threads being pulled apart by sheer force. It's time you turned the tables on Nick, so you kneel on either side of him, straddling his lap. Reaching down between your bodies, you unsnap the button and pull down the fly of his jeans. You shove them down his thighs as far as they can go without wasting the time and effort of standing up. This is going to be quick and this is going to give you release. And there won't be anything left for the son of a bitch who deprived you of a finger fuck with a proper ending.

His cock springs free from the charcoal gray boxer briefs. It's thick shaft standing in attention and smooth head shining with precum. You're tempted to press your tongue on the tip to taste the salt of his virility. But you don't want to give him the satisfaction of receiving head when your only goal is your climax. With your thong pulled to the side, you plunge down on his cock. A blooming ache of fullness from his root to the base of your belly, electrifying the nerves up your spine, and throwing your senses headfirst into a cloud of lust.

Nick grunts with every descent and every slap of flesh. His hands squeeze your tits through the dress, thumbs kneading on the hardened peaks.

"You're so snug," he breathes hotly into your skin. His lips skim over your sternum as his hand tenderly cups your breast. "So wet for me."

You tug on his chin so he's looking up at you. Beads of sweat are forming at his temples, blood tingeing on his cheeks. You kiss him hard, no soft curves but a swift smack of your lips. "Shut up."

He heeds your request, pulling you in for a proper kiss this time. His soft mouth curves over yours, tongue dipping into the heat of your mouth as if he were feeding a fire. And he is. Your hands grip into the round collar of his shirt, wishing you could dig your nails into his skin. His hips thrust up to meet yours, and you both howl against each other's lips. His hands trail down your sides to settle on your hips; he spreads his fingers out and lifts you, guiding you up and down his cock.

"Oh… God…."

You unlatch your mouth from his, hands up against the condensation on the windows. You press harder just as his thrusts quicken and he takes control, like a stallion that's gone buck wild. The threads holding your sense of reality together completely unravels, and a wave of intense pleasure rushes over your body. "Holy! Fuck!" It rocks you from your core and radiates down through your entire body. You're in the throes of one of the most satisfying orgasms you've ever experienced in your life and Nick continues to let you ride it down to the very last second, until your body is depleted and your hands are slipping down the windowpane.

Without leaving the spasming warmth of your cunt, Nick pulls you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He pushes you up against the pole, the base of your exposed spine shivering at the sensation of cold metal.

The PA system buzzes again with a screeching sound of nails on a chalkboard. It's followed by a garbled, incoherent mess. But even if it were in English, you probably wouldn't have been able to make out what they were saying because you would've been too distracted by Nick's mouth sucking on the throbbing pulse on your neck.

With one hand, you reach above you to hold onto the pole while the other braces on his shoulder. Nick thrusts into you hard and fast, challenging your body to climb another crest before falling into the valley of an all-consuming rapture. Nick closes his eyes tightly, his teeth biting onto his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood. His movements are urgent and strong, stretching and filling you well beyond what your body was designed to withstand. But you take him, all of him. And if you could take more of this rabid fucking, you would in a heartbeat.

"Ah, shit!" Nick lunges forward and, with the pole behind you being your only base of support, you both lose your balance and tumble to the floor.

"We're not even drunk, but why are we so sloppy?" You manage to ask between fits of breathless laughter.

Nick cups your jaw and draws you in for a sweet kiss. "Because you corrupt me."

You smile into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slowly lifts you off the ground. Once you're on your feet, he runs his fingers up your arms to untangle them from his neck. You're about to question him when he flips you around so your back is pressed up on his chest. His hard dick is sticking straight out, caressed by the soft skirt of your dress. He puts pressure on your lower back, bending you forward so you ass pushes hard into his groin. "Hold on," he says, guiding your hands onto the pole. In slow and deliberate movements, he hikes your dress up and pulls your thong down to your knees. His palm smooths over your thighs, up the curve of your ass. You hiss as the roughness of his hand glides over the sore skin; for a while, you blanked on the memory of falling on your ass when you attempted a striptease. "Does it hurt?" he asks, stroking the reddened area with feather-light touches.

"A little," you admit.

He crouches down, his hands trailing down to the backs of your knees. He blows a soft kiss on the bruise, his breath tickling your skin as he rises up. "_But my God, she looks so helpless,"_ Nick sings quietly. You don't recognize the song at first, and you owe it to the fact that he's horribly out of tune. But then you realize it was actually one of the songs from the musical you'd just seen. "_And her body's saying hell yes…"_ Grabbing your hip, he pulls you closer and slots his hardness between your slick folds. Your fists tighten around the pole, bracing yourself for what's about to come. The last thing you expect is the whispered "Lo siento" before he delivers a swift slap in the ass.

You cry out in pain that is immediately roped in by pleasure as he enters you to the hilt. His hips rock against yours as his fingertips rub soothing circles over the evidence of his misbehavior. You want to make him pay for it, but you also want to show him your gratitude. It's a huge turn-on, and it's one _big _reason (among others) why you have no plans of ever letting this man go.

"Nick! Oh, fuck..." You moan as he pummels relentlessly inside you. "Please… Faster."

"You're going to be the death of me," he groans, slamming into you, the sound of your flesh colliding sounding obscene amidst the stillness.

"Harder…"

He listens, as he practically crushes himself against you, like two bodies heading straight for each other at breakneck speed. His arm courses down your front, fingers dipping between your legs to thumb over your clit. It's enough to send you writhing, palms slipping down the metal along with the rest of your body's resolve. You're so close, but he's so much closer. You can feel the frenetic thrusts, gaining in force and becoming spastic in rhythm.

"Not yet, baby," you tell him as you draw your breath in sharply.

He pinches and flicks your clit as he continues to drive himself inside you. "More?"

You nod, and he continues to stimulate you by rubbing circles at the swollen nub. "Baby, I'm gonna fill you up… Holy shit…" He thrusts twice more before he slows, the torrent of his seed spraying into your womb. It's all you can take before you're riding the rest of his climax with him, your walls clenching around him as your body quakes in an orgasm that easily rivals the last. It flows through your body, convulsing underneath his hold and trusting that he doesn't let you go.

"Can't breathe," Nick chuckles as his torso collapses on your back, his weight causing you to slip further down the pole, but not before he catches you. He presses a kiss on your shoulder blade before he helps you up.

Exhausted, you fall back onto the seats to regain your breathing. You settle your head against his outstretched arm, listening to his barely audible humming. You shake your head and smile. He still has those damn songs stuck in his head.

A bright light shines in your face. Using your arm, you shield against the unwelcome intrusion and blink to make out the form of a man wearing a police hat. "You two, quit makin' out," he says, shining the light at your flushed faces. Once you get a better glimpse of him, you notice the Metro Transit Authority badge on his left breast pocket. He walks along the center aisle, approaching your seats. "Didn't you hear the announcement?"

You exchange a look with Nick. "What announcement?"

"Ten minutes ago. Geez, we told ya to walk to the front of the train so you could get off at the next platform."

Nick scratches the back of his head. "Sorry, man, didn't hear a thing. The speakers are shot." He stands up and picks up your jackets before holding his hand out for you. Slipping your hand in his, you walk toward the MTA security guard and throw him an apologetic smile. "Won't happen again."

"Better not. Made me walk eight cars to get here," he grumbles as you walk past him.

Just before you leave and head for the platform, the security guard shines his flashlight into the darkened car. You look over your shoulder and watch as he spots the condensation marks of your hands on the window. Shaking his head, his face contorts into a disgusted expression. "Y'all are nasty."


End file.
